


As Unpredictable As the Tides

by krimson_khaos



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Demisexual Katsuki Yuuri, Don't copy to another site, Gay Victor Nikiforov, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inexperienced Katsuki Yuuri, Injury, Katsuki Yuuri in Russia, Lilia is Yuuri's teacher, M/M, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, Unrequited Crush, i'll add more as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krimson_khaos/pseuds/krimson_khaos
Summary: After a dubious first encounter, Yuuri manages to impress Lilia Baranovskaya with his skills as a dancer. Enough for the former ballerina to extend an invitation to her home in Russia, in the hopes of taking on Yuuri under her coveted tutelage.As Yuuri adjusts to his new life in Russia, making a name for his own along the way, a certain person enters his life and makes him experience feelings that had never manifested themselves before.Yuuri must fight the battle within his own heart, as well as the one on the stage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> First of all, thank you so much for taking the time to read this fic.
> 
> I'd like to say this chapter serves as some sort of prologue to the actual story. You will notice it's more description-focused, rather than dialogue-oriented.
> 
> I wanted to set the tone, see where our main character is at right now. The story will have a much different flow from the next chapter on.
> 
> This work is unbeta-ed, therefore I claim full responsibility for any and all mistakes I might have made. Feel free to point them out if you spot any!
> 
> That being said, welcome along. I hope you enjoy the ride!

The last thing Yuuri could have envisioned last summer –when he had enrolled in an advanced dance workshop imparted by his ballet teacher, Minako– was that he would find himself packing his bags. Quite literally.

But that wasn’t a bad thing in the slightest. Well, sure, it would signify a drastic change in his life, not to mention a cultural shock. Most importantly, he’d be leaving his family and his home behind. In short, everything he knew and was comfortable with. But, as he stuffed the thickest coat he possessed in his suitcase, hoping it would be enough to brave the harsh winter in store for him, the realization hit Yuuri like an oncoming semi.

Because, believe it or not, Yuuri was moving to Russia. His flight was scheduled to depart within a week’s time. A veritable nightmare of layovers, with the final destination being the city of St. Petersburg. More specifically, the residence of one Lilia Baranovskaya, former Bolshoi Ballet prima ballerina, which _happened_ to be located in St. Petersburg.

It seemed surreal that Yuuri would find himself in such a situation. And yet, here he was. As he stared at the half-packed suitcase lying on top of his bed, the boy felt this imminent sense of dread consume him. Of course this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, he tried to reason with himself. He was perfectly aware that many dancers would give up their right  _legs_  for this sort of chance. After all, it wasn't every day that the former Bolshoi Ballet prima ballerina, herself, deemed you worthy enough to be her disciple. 

It was funny, really, how such a situation had come to pass. It still felt like yesterday, when the young dancer had found himself face to face with the Russian woman. It was a Saturday morning, on the very first day of the workshop, and he had gotten to Minako-sensei’s studio with literally seconds to spare. Poor Yuuri had struggled with insomnia the night before, and logically had overslept that morning.

The last thing he expected was to be nearly yelled at –in Russian, of all things– by such a strict-looking woman. For a moment, he’d considered maybe this was all a product of his exhausted mind. It wasn’t until Minako had come to the rescue that he’d actually processed _who_ the strange woman was.

He’d always known his teacher was an avid admirer of the former ballerina, but he’d never actually entertained the possibility that the two might know each other. Minako had never mentioned it, anyway. As he thought about it, it actually made perfect sense for them to be acquainted. Of course they would have known each other while they were still enrolled in their respective companies, waltzing across different stages all over the world.

Minako was several years younger, and in fact, she’d looked up to the Russian prima. She’d once told Yuuri how she’d hoped to one day be a member of the Bolshoi herself, back when she was a little girl. It would have been such an honor, to be able to say she'd danced on the same stage alongside the great Russian legend. 

Now, that would have been something. However, life dealt each person a different hand of cards, and Minako's had landed her in the heart of London, as a member of the Royal Ballet. A former Benois de la Danse award recipient herself, she had made a name all on her own, earning the respect of many, including Madame Baranovskaya herself.

From what Yuuri had gleaned over the summer, both women had been corresponding for a long time, even after their respective retirements. It was apparently Madame Lilia herself who had insisted on coming over and helping out with the workshop.

What Yuuri was unaware of, was the fact that the Russian woman was in search of new talent. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of great up and coming dancers in Russia, by any means. Unfortunately, it just so happened that each promising new talent came with an ego larger than their own petite frames. She had no time for such insufferable brats. Her patience was short as it was.

The idea had thrilled Minako, once Lilia had relayed it to her. She had great confidence in all of her students, most of whom she’d known for a number of years. But, if she was being honest with herself, the one she would love to see triumph above everyone else, was the sweet, bespectacled boy.

Yuuri was her favorite student, but not without reason. Some people might think she was biased, considering he was her best friend Hiroko's son. In fact, she'd known the boy from the day he was born, and she'd loved him like her very own from that moment on.

The boy had been a constant presence in her studio from the tender age of five, when he could barely stretch his chubby legs, or keep his balance. Ever since those long-ago days, she'd seen him progress so much. In fact, no one she had mentored had ever shown such drive and determination.

Over the course of twelve years, her little duckling had blossomed right before her very eyes, through hard work and countless sacrifice. He had earned her utmost respect, just as sure as he'd gained her undying love from the moment he'd first opened his large, chocolate eyes.

Yuuri was actually a tremendously gifted dancer. His only flaw was his lack of confidence in his own skill. However, his humble disposition would no doubt be an asset in Lilia’s eyes. She just hoped he wouldn’t crumble under the pressure.

For that very reason, Minako had purposefully omitted to mention what the older woman’s presence in the workshop actually signified. She obviously knew what was at stake, and she didn’t want to put extra pressure on anyone else, least of all Yuuri.

Ruthless in her teachings, yet encouraging towards the people she saw potential in, Minako-sensei would go out of her way to help the worthy to greatness. Having always been a professional, she knew what it took to get to the top. It would be a major disservice to her profession to use her own name to advance someone undeserving. Let them triumph on their own merits!

Lilia’s work ethic was very similar in that respect. And that was why, when she’d informed Minako of her decision to take Yuuri under her wing, the Japanese woman had felt something warm and pleasant fill her heart. Her Yuuri had done it, he'd impressed one of the strictest women she knew!

Keeping such information to herself had proven torturous, given her gossipy nature. It had been a right struggle, but she’d refrained from telling Hiroko or Toshiya, wanting to see the prideful look on their faces when Yuuri himself delivered the news. He deserved that much.

The letter, which now sat atop Yuuri's modest desk, had come almost a month ago, by now. Handwritten in fancy calligraphy, Yuuri's name boldly dominated the top of the gold-stamped sheet of silky paper. An invitation to come stay in St. Petersburg, in the former ballerina's own residence, along with a scholarship to attend her prestigious dance academy.

Yuuri had initially dismissed it as some sort of acknowledgment for his participation in the workshop. Nothing else. It was still an admirable thing to possess, of course; in Yuuri's mind it was almost akin to a letter of recommendation. He certainly never expected the actual contents of the gilded envelope.

For the pages within contained nothing but a litany of words of encouragement and endless praise for his skills. After getting to know Madame Baranovskaya over the summer, if Yuuri was certain of anything, was that she wasn't the type of person to offer false flattery. Yuuri's rational mind told him so. He _knew_ this.

However, when your name was Katsuki Yuuri, self-conscious ball of anxiety extraordinaire, of course your first instinct was to panic. It was a meltdown of epic proportions, which included copious amounts of crying, denial and disbelief. In no particular order.

When it first came, it had taken both Hiroko and Minako all afternoon to calm him down. Minako even read the letter to him out loud, as her own prideful tears spilled down her cheeks. It was incredible to see her own former idol offering such heartfelt praise to her most beloved student. Her only wish was that Yuuri would learn to see all those wonderful things about himself, which were so evident in everyone else’s eyes.

* * *

Before he even knew it, Yuuri’s departure was imminent. He’d spent all of last month getting his things in order. His paperwork had taken the longest, but his passport and Russian student visa were finally in his possession. Meanwhile, Lilia had been taking care of things in Russia, in preparation for his arrival.

The two of them had naturally been in constant communication over the course of the weeks, with Minako’s help at first. After all, Yuuri could never deny the fact that he felt intimidated by his new future instructress. However, as he’d gotten to know her, he’d spotted hints of softness here and there. She wasn’t as harsh as she appeared at first sight.

For instance, she’d emailed him his boarding pass already, along with directions to navigate Pulkovo Airport. She’d even been kind enough to provide hand-drawn diagrams. They were old-fashioned –and he was sure he would have been able to find that information online– but the unexpected thoughtfulness of it made him feel like he was already welcome.

There was a pressing matter on his mind, though, which he’d yet to discuss with Lilia. After all, he didn’t know just how demanding her lessons would be. He would wait until he got to Russia for that, just so he could get acquainted with his routine.

The thing was, Yuuri had always pictured himself leading an unremarkable life. Ballet wasn’t something he was sure he’d want to pursue professionally, so he’d contented himself with treating it as a hobby. Maybe he could do some local shows, just for fun. Nothing major. His dreams were certainly nothing like Minako’s, who had fancied herself dancing on the stage of the Bolshoi Theatre, ever since she was but a little girl.

After all, he just didn’t think he was on that level. He was aware he was a hard-worker, of course, and he knew he had the discipline. He just didn’t think he possessed the talent. In Yuuri’s mind, there would always be someone better. That was why, after high school, he’d always pictured himself attending university. His chosen major would be something practical, too. Something that would enable him to get a dependable job, nothing more.

Thus, Yuuri’s dilemma was born. Madame Lilia seemed to think he had what it took to make it big, and his formation would likely be centered around dancing. Minako was of like mind, of course. But what if Yuuri failed? What if he didn’t live up to their expectations? What would he do then? He would like to have something to fall back upon; a safety net, if you will.

Would attending university in Russia be an option? Were there even any public schools there? He certainly didn’t have a lot of money. His bank account had been started by his parents several years ago, and while he had absolutely no idea what the cost of private education was in Russia, he suspected his bank balance wouldn’t be able to cover it. Would he be able to get a part-time job to compensate? Certainly not on a student visa.

As all these thoughts invaded his brain, Yuuri felt a tremendous pressure in his chest. He really had no choice but to succeed as a dancer, did he? His legs suddenly gave way and he fell on his knees, as his tears escaped him. Luckily, he was all alone, in the privacy of his tiny bedroom. He really didn’t have the energy to deal with other people right now.

So many things were overwhelming him at the moment. He really hadn’t let himself feel them up until now. The excitement of starting a new life somewhere far off had been keeping his anxiety at bay for the last few weeks. But as the countdown fast approached its imminent end, his worst enemy had gradually made its unwelcome presence known. It filled him with all these thoughts, which intermingled with the sadness, and the realization that he wouldn’t be able to see his family and his hometown in who knew how long.

There were so many things he would miss, that he’d taken for granted up until that point. The taste of homemade meals, the smell of the _onsen_ , his sister’s sarcastic quips, his father’s pleasant disposition, his mother’s smile and her warm presence were among them. He had been surrounded by all this love all throughout his life, comforted by the familiarity of his surroundings.

And now, he was headed towards a place he had absolutely no knowledge of. Even the thought of a place like Russia seemed intimidating in Yuuri’s mind. There were so many things that were so unlike what he was used to, like the unforgiving weather and the harsh language, to name a few. There would be no Yuuko there, no trusted friend he could come to when everything got to be too much. Who would listen to him, or give him a hug when he needed it?

Maybe going there wasn’t such a good idea. Perhaps he should just get his head out of the clouds, refund Lilia for the cost of his plane ticket, and apologize endlessly for giving her so much trouble. But then, he’d be too embarrassed to look Minako in the eye as well, and he’d be forced to quit ballet altogether. What would his mother think, then? She’d be disappointed for sure.

Yuuri’s tears kept sliding down his cheeks, as powerful sobs wracked his slim frame. There was just too much at stake here, and he wasn’t sure he was up to the challenge. Eventually, he managed to calm down just enough to get up from the floor and sit on his bed, as he practiced some breathing exercises Minako had taught him.

“Yuuri?” his mother’s gentle voice helped center him, and in that moment, Yuuri couldn’t have been more grateful for her. He was sure she had heard him crying earlier, yet she’d given him the space he needed before coming inside.

In lieu of replying, Yuuri simply wrapped his arms around her, burying his head against her shoulder, when the short, plump woman sat down next to him on his bed.

Hiroko knew no words were necessary right now, and in her endless love and patience towards her baby boy, she smiled a watery smile. Her short arms wrapped around his body, as she ran her hand up and down his back in a calming motion. That seemed to do the trick, for the young boy’s breathing evened out gradually.

Probably not even Yuuri himself felt as much happiness –and certainly not as much pride– as this loving woman did, about the opportunity he’d been presented with. Her happiness stemmed from her desire to see her son succeed, from the knowledge that he would, and from the fact that, no matter how many obstacles he had to face, he’d overcome them all. But she’d be lying if she didn’t also feel a tremendous sadness to see him go. She wasn’t ready to see her darling boy leave the nest yet.

Hiroko knew better than anyone just how strong her son was. To most, Yuuri might seem like a weak person, likely to crumble under the pressure of his unsurmountable anxiety. But it was precisely those challenges his mental illness presented him with on a daily basis, that had made him so resilient. And yet, as her hand continued the circular motions all along Yuuri’s back, she was struck with a sudden thought. Who would comfort her darling boy when he needed it most? He would be all alone, with no one to turn to for help. And in that moment, a tear slid down her cheek, and the reality of the situation dawned upon her. Tomorrow, Yuuri would leave. On his own.

Sensing her sadness, Yuuri’s arms wrapped themselves more tightly around his mother, and the pair continued to cry in absolute silence, as their hearts broke a little bit.

“I’m going to miss you so much, mom” he whispered eventually. His voice sounded like he had a bad cold.

“Me too, my love,” Hiroko whispered back, right before planting a soft kiss upon her son’s jet-black tresses. “But if anyone deserves this opportunity, that’s you, Yuuri,” she continued, just as quietly.

“But what if I end up disappointing everyone? What if I’m not what Madame Lilia expects?” he finally dared to voice the fears that had been plaguing him endlessly.

“Oh, darling,” Hiroko chuckled sadly. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, just for a moment. I may be no expert, but when you’re dancing you look so free, Yuuri. Like you could take over the world all by yourself.”

“You sound like Minako-sensei,” Yuuri nearly whined.

“And don’t you think there’s a reason for that?” Hiroko pressed on. “You just have to believe in yourself, darling. I know your mind can make you doubt yourself; it’s not something you have control over. But when those voices start tormenting you, take a moment, and remember my words instead.

You’re a strong, brave boy, Yuuri. Your anxiety doesn’t define you. Your hard work does, as well as your focus, your determination, your passion. Let those fuel you. And whenever you start doubting yourself, or are feeling overwhelmed, you know I’m just a phone call away.” Hiroko smiled at Yuuri, as the boy slowly readjusted his position to look at her.

“Thanks mom,” he wanted to tell her so much more, express how grateful he was for her kind words. He wanted to somehow put into words all of that endless love he felt for her in that moment. But he knew no words would ever come close. It was okay, his mother knew. She always did, somehow.

Eventually, the pair emerged from Yuuri’s room. The family had prepared a small going away feast for him. It was a small affair, including only the people he was closest to, which had never been that many, in the first place.

His family were all present, of course, along with Minako-sensei. Yuuko and Takeshi were in attendance as well, which made Yuuri immensely happy. He hadn’t been able to hang out with his friends that often as of late, since most of their time was spent taking care of their baby triplets.

As they feasted upon a variety of homemade meals, which naturally included Hiroko’s famous _katsudon_ , hours trickled by, and before long, everyone had to retire. After all, they all had an early morning ahead of them, and in the Nishigoris’ case, they had to get back to their daughters, who had remained with Yuuko’s mom.

Everyone’s well-wishes, as well as their words or love and encouragement stayed with Yuuri all throughout his sleepless night, warming his heart, and all the way to the moment he boarded the plane. They were his only solace right now, as he found himself all alone for the first time in his life, surrounded by strangers.

Heaving a sigh, the boy settled in his seat, mentally preparing himself for the long flight ahead.

* * *

About a day, and two exhausting layovers later, Yuuri finally found himself staring at the cryptic Cyrillic writing plastered pretty much on every surface around him. This was the very first time he’d travelled abroad, and he was entirely on his own. Objectively, he knew Madame Lilia must already be waiting for him, somewhere close by. But he still had to walk the maze that was the airport, collect his bags from the carousel, and finally go through Customs. He’d been told it could be a very long process, which he certainly wasn’t anticipating at all.

He’d barely managed to sleep on the plane, as it was, torn between excitement and sadness. And now that he finally found himself on solid ground once again, his energy was finally flagging. He wanted nothing more than to take a nice, warm shower to wash off the smells of the plane and to relax his strained muscles. Next, he wanted to sleep for about a week straight.

In the end, Madame Lilia’s diagrams had proven really helpful in the task of navigating the airport, and Yuuri found himself silently thanking her for her thoughtfulness once again. Going through Customs was, indeed, a draining experience, and quite a frustrating one as well. The other person he was really thankful for, right in this moment, was his teacher Minako, who had made him practice his English religiously. Otherwise, he just didn’t know how he would have communicated with the officials who were drilling him with endless questions regarding his extended stay in Russia.

When he was finally allowed to proceed to the international lounge, with several pieces of luggage in tow, he nervously looked around for a familiar face. It was with great relief –not to mention surprise– that he finally spotted someone carrying a large board with inexpertly drawn kanji on it. As badly written as it was, his heart filled with warmth upon the sight of his own name, in his own language, no less: 勝生勇利

The sight of the familiar, albeit wobbly characters, amidst a sea of incomprehensible Cyrillic, distracted him for a moment. It took him a while to realize that the person carrying the aforementioned board wasn’t Madame Lilia. In fact, it was no woman at all.

As his gaze traveled upwards, he found himself face to face with the most dazzling pair of blue eyes he had ever seen in his life. At the same time, understanding dawned upon the face of the owner of those beautiful eyes. Said understanding morphed into joy, which manifested itself in the form of a lovely heart-shaped smile.

“Yuuri?” the stranger spoke in a heavily accented way, making the R in his name sound harsher. “You’re Yuuri Katsuki?”

“Hi,” Yuuri nodded, smiling shyly at the boy, for a boy it was. One around his own age, if Yuuri were to guess. “And you are…?” He said, tentatively, hoping not to appear rude. Was this boy Lilia’s son? Her nephew? He certainly looked nothing like her, with his blue, blue eyes and his golden, sun-kissed hair.

The boy appeared puzzled for a moment, before he rolled his eyes in an almost bored way, rather than an annoyed one. “So, she didn’t mention anything,” his monotone mirrored his expression, but only for a moment. Soon, a smile drew itself on his lips once again, before he proceeded to speak. “Nice to meet you, Yuuri. My name is Nikita. Nikita Nikiforov,” the boy chirped, as he held out his hand for Yuuri to take.

Despite his exhaustion, Yuuri couldn’t help but smile at him. The boy’s bubbly enthusiasm was contagious. As he shook the boy’s warm hand, Yuuri couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he and Nikita could be friends.

For the briefest of moments, Yuuri’s heart did a tiny somersault, excited for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? Nikita? His name is Victor!
> 
> No, my dears, I did not make a mistake. In this AU, Victor has a younger brother. I chose the name Nikita because I wanted it to have a similar meaning to Victor's own.
> 
> According to [this website](https://www.momjunction.com/baby-names/nikita/), Nikita means Unbeatable, supreme, invincible, indomitable. 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Feel free to shout at me here, or over on Twitter [@yuusagi_on_ice](https://twitter.com/yuusagi_on_ice)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Long time no see!
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay. I've actually had most of this chapter written for a while, but real life got in the way. You know how it is!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Being the quiet, reserved type, Yuuri had always had trouble making friends, ever since he was a young boy. In fact, back home in Hasetsu, he was the sort of kid who preferred to spend his lunch breaks inside the classroom, all alone, instead of going to the schoolyard, or even the cafeteria. Poor Yuuri got teased endlessly about it. He was always the weird kid in that respect.

Pair that with the fact that he used to be chubby as an infant, along with his unusual interest in ballet, and you had a recipe for disaster. Unfortunately, all of these facts had served as fodder for the rest of his classmates to bully him all throughout his life. Take his weight, for instance. Yuuri had been chubby as a young child, and despite slimming down years ago –he worked out tirelessly, after all– he was still relentlessly teased about it.

As for his ballet, asides from a number of positions and movements, it had taught him an array of previously unknown terms. Words like _arabesque_ , _sissone_ , _fouetté_ , or _pas de bourrée_ ; along with less tasteful, and decidedly more hurtful ones, like fag, sissy, or homo, became a part of his daily vocabulary. Funny, considering Yuuri had never felt attracted to a man in his life. Or a woman, for that matter.

Having to deal with such stressful situations on a daily basis had actually helped trigger in him an anxiety disorder. Simply put, this meant that aside from the endless teasing and bullying coming from his classmates, Yuuri had to fight a daily battle with his own mind. It was exhausting, to say the least.

Considering his terrible experiences growing up, it was no wonder Yuuri felt rather queasy about moving to Russia. On the one hand, it would enable him a clean slate. Here, no one would ever know he’d been chubby once. No one would judge him for being into ballet, either, since the company he would be keeping would consist mainly of dancers. Besides, the fact that he had been deemed worthy by Madame Lilia herself to be her student, would probably earn him a lot of respect among his peers.

On the other hand, there would be no Yuuko there. No Takeshi, either. He would find himself all alone again, forced to deal with the prospect of making new friends. Coming from completely different cultures and backgrounds, would they even have anything in common, at all? Not to mention the language barrier alone, which was daunting to Yuuri. Even if he could speak English, he wasn’t sure his Russian counterparts could, as well.

Such worries had proven unfounded, as Yuuri would come to find later on. Because of all the terrible scenarios his mind had conjured up for him, he had never entertained the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he would get to meet someone who found him cool and worthy to spend time with, much less that the feeling would be mutual. And yet, here in St. Petersburg, of all places, Yuuri had found exactly that.

Nikita Nikiforov, or Niki-chan, as Yuuri had taken to calling him, was a blessing in disguise. From the moment he’d held out his hand to Yuuri at the airport and gifted him with that pure, heart-shaped smile, Nikita had been nothing but nice to Yuuri; always engaging him, making him feel welcome, and helping him make the first weeks of his stay, when he’d constantly missed his family and his home, a bit more bearable.

It had now been a bit over a month since Yuuri had first arrived in Russia, so naturally he was already acquainted with a lot of aspects of his new life. It was still a learning process, particularly when it came to the language, which was still pretty much incomprehensible to Yuuri, save for a few choice words and expressions.

He was taking lessons, of course, which had been arranged for him by Lilia. It was actually a mandatory credit for his education, which had turned out to be quite demanding, and not just because of the endless hours he spent at the studio or at the gym. His schedule was packed with classes about art, history, and even things like injury prevention and anatomy. Suffice to say, it was rare that the boy had a moment off. Even today, when he had been given a break from the studio, he found himself holed up in his room, with his nose buried in a book on Russian grammar.

With a whine, Yuuri tossed his book aside, frustrated. The last two hours of his life had been spent trying to figure out Russian declensions. Even with Nikita’s help, the task had proven daunting. He was at that point when his brain was so saturated it just couldn’t hold any more information in.

“Given up already?” Nikita chuckled from his position on the floor. He’d been playing videogames on Yuuri’s portable system, as the latter tried to catch up on his homework. Despite finding himself in a disadvantaged position –language-wise– as well, those indecipherable kanji and kana hadn’t stopped the Russian boy from enjoying the game he was trying to defeat.

“Why is this so hard?” Yuuri whined pitifully once again, leaning against the back of his chair and closing his eyes tiredly.

“You know I’m glad to help more,” Nikita paused his game to focus his gaze on Yuuri. He had, indeed, offered, and Yuuri had acquiesced for about half an hour, before insisting he better do this on his own. Else, there was no point.

By now, Nikita was well aware that the Japanese boy was actually a very hard worker, whose determination and drive forced him to try his hardest, until he was able to master whatever he was dealing with. It wasn’t even a matter of pride or stubbornness. Yuuri was just built that way, and Nikita admired him all the more for it.

“That would be cheating, Niki-chan. I told you before,” Yuuri had now taken off his glasses and was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, you know I respect you too much to actually do your assignments for you, Yuuri. I merely meant I could help explain the concepts to you,” Nikita went on.

Yuuri turned to look at his friend with an unreadable expression upon his face. However, from what Nikita could see, he wasn’t mad. He actually seemed… touched?

“I mean it, Yuuri,” the boy smiled at him, knowing he had trouble accepting any kind of praise. He was hurt by such a thing, because he actually considered Yuuri to be the coolest person he’d ever met.

“Thanks, Niki-chan,” Yuuri felt his cheeks heat up slightly.

“Sooo, what do you want to do now?” Nikita knew Yuuri had reached his Russian grammar quota for the day. He needed to distract himself for a bit.

Considering for a moment, Yuuri climbed down from his chair and sat down on the floor, next to his friend. He remained silent for a few moments, as he chewed his lip nervously. Nikita didn’t interrupt him. He knew sometimes Yuuri needed some time to put his ideas in order in his head, before saying them out loud.

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk?” Yuuri said tentatively. It almost sounded like a question, in fact.

Over the course of last month, they had learned several things about each other. Nikita now knew Yuuri came from a loving, hard-working family, had an older sister who loved to tease him (but who would actually kill anyone who so much as dared to hurt her baby brother), and a couple of good friends back home.

Conversely, Yuuri knew Nikita was actually from Moscow, but had moved to St. Petersburg four years ago, by recommendation of someone named Mr. Feltsman, and Lilia had taken him under her wing since then. He didn’t know much about his family, other than the fact that his parents didn’t seem to care much about him, or for his estranged brother. In fact, Nikita didn’t speak about them, if he could help it.

“What’s on your mind? Nikita tilted his head curiously.

“Well…” Yuuri stalled, wondering if he should actually ask.

“Go on,” Nikita poked Yuuri’s ribs playfully, eliciting a few giggles from a squirming Yuuri.

When he finally calmed down, he schooled his face into a neutral expression, before continuing. “The other day, Madame Lilia mentioned your brother was coming to town”

“And…?” Nikita didn’t elaborate.

“I know you two aren’t particularly close. But he’s still your brother. I mean, Mari loves to tease me, and sometimes I hate it, but I couldn’t picture my life without her” Yuuri continued. “In fact, I message her everyday, just to know how things are back home.”

Nikita knew where Yuuri was going with this, but he chose to remain silent.

“I’m probably saying this because I miss my family very much, and I would give anything to see them. If I had that chance, I wouldn’t waste it, Niki-chan.” Yuuri’s voice was a soft murmur by now.

Nikita forced a smile, which didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was the first time Yuuri had seen his friend wear such an expression.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said regretfully. He had a tendency to apologize whenever he thought he’d done or said something wrong, which was quite often.

Nikita’s expression softened as he heaved a sigh. He did know Yuuri cared about him, and objectively, he knew he was right. But there was just so much Yuuri didn’t know. Perhaps he should open up a bit more, and actually talk, like Yuuri had suggested. He trusted his friend, after all.

“Don’t apologize Yuu-chan,” he said, as he brushed his fingers against Yuuri’s hand, which was resting on the floor between them.

“I know you mean well. I really do. It’s just…” Nikita heaved a sigh, as his blue eyes became clouded. After a pause, he continued. “I trust you, Yuu-chan. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I’m so happy you came into my life.” His fingers caressed Yuuri’s knuckles softly. It was an unconscious motion, which seemed to ground him for some reason.

“There’s so much you don’t know about me, about my family. It’s complicated, and it might be difficult for you to grasp, since you come from such a loving environment.”

Yuuri’s eyes were wide by now, as he stared at Nikita’s profile. He placed his other hand on top of Nikita’s, in a gesture of reassurance, silently letting him know it was okay to continue speaking.

“I’m gay, Yuu-chan,” Nikita’s voice trembled a bit, as the words escaped his lips. This was the first time he had ever told a living soul about this. “And in Russia, that’s actually a problem. It can get you in trouble, serious trouble. Naturally, you can imagine what an embarrassment it is to have a gay son. Let alone two”

Yuuri’s heart thumped loudly in his chest. He could relate to this! Japan fared not much better when it came to acceptance towards the LGBT community. Even he, who had never felt attraction towards anyone in his entire life, guy or girl, had been subjected to an array of homophobic slurs. And it had hurt! Badly!

Nikita offered a strained smile, squeezing Yuuri’s hand. “My parents don’t actually know about me. But I still remember the way they kicked my brother out of the house. They disowned him, and told him he was no son of theirs.” Nikita took a deep breath. It was painful, but somehow letting all this out was cathartic.

“Niki-chan,” Yuuri was at a loss for words, still trying to process everything his friend had told him.

“My brother’s actually famous, you know? He’s a figure skater. A living legend in the making, you could even say,” his tone was strained for some reason.

“You know he never reached out?” he continued, after a long pause. “I used to look up to him, you know? But after everything, he disappeared for a while. Next thing I knew, he was all over the place, winning gold medal after gold medal for Russia”

Yuuri could tell how painful this was for his friend. He couldn’t even fathom the idea of anyone doing such a thing to their kid. But throughout all of this, Nikita had had to suffer all alone, in complete silence, fearful of what his parents would do to him if they found out he was just like the brother they now despised.

“He lives in Sochi now. He’s coming to town for a competition.”

“But if he contacted you, that means he wants to see you, Niki-chan,” Yuuri finally found his timid voice.

“He didn’t, Yuu-chan,” his voice was filled with bitter pain. “It was his coach, Mr. Feltsman, who contacted Madame Lilia. They used to be married, you know?”

Yuuri’s tiny gasp conveyed so many things at once. Disbelief, shock, confusion…

“I don’t know what to say,” Yuuri’s tone was apologetic. He had never imagined such a thing when he’d brought Niki’s brother up.

“It’s all right, Yuu-chan. You couldn’t have known,” Nikita squeezed Yuuri’s hand once again.

“Mr. Feltsman…” Yuuri whispered in sudden realization, as his mind put two and two together. “He’s the reason you’re here, right?”

Nikita nodded, confused.

“How did he know you’re a dancer?” Yuuri pressed.

“I don’t know. He and Victor met back when he was still married to Madame Lilia, and he took him under his wing. That was a couple of years before they relocated to Sochi. Sometimes he would come by the house. Maybe it came up in conversation?” Nikita didn’t know why that fact would be relevant.

“Or maybe Victor told him,” Yuuri nearly gasped. “Maybe he told him how good you are, and he wanted to make sure you learned under the best”

“What?!” Nikita had certainly never entertained such a notion.

“Think about it, Niki-chan. It can’t have been mere coincidence. Who else could have told him? I bet your parents didn’t keep in touch with him after everything.”

Nikita shook his head.

“I bet he does care about you! Probably he’s just ashamed to get in touch,” Yuuri was determined to reconcile the two brothers. Family was important, and after what Nikita had told him, probably this Victor was all alone and hurting as well.

Nikita merely stared into Yuuri’s large chocolate eyes, offering him a sad, lopsided smile. “You’re too kind for this world, Yuu-chan,” he added, before planting an innocent kiss on his cheek.

Except for Yuuko, back home, no one had ever kissed Yuuri like that. He knew it was a gesture of affection, nothing more. Nikita had meant nothing by it. Still, Yuuri felt his cheeks heat up a bit, just the way they did whenever he was embarrassed.

Nikita brought his free hand up to caress one of said cheeks tenderly, still wearing his sad smile. “What’s your story, Yuu-chan?” He asked, in an attempt to avert the painful subject of his brother.

“What do you mean?” Yuuri was genuinely confused. It actually felt nice, the way Nikita’s hand caressed his skin.

“I mean, do you have someone you like? Do you perhaps have a pretty girlfriend back in Japan?”

“I-I…” Yuuri stuttered. Nikita had been so open with him, it was only fair to reciprocate. He did trust him, too. “Actually, I was teased back home, for practicing ballet. Everyone at school called me names, they called me a fag, a homo…,” Yuuri trailed off.

“But I’m not attracted to guys. I’m not attracted to girls either, in fact,” Yuuri confessed. For him, this was also the first time he’d said such a thing out loud. “Am I weird? Broken somehow?” his voice came out as a mere whisper.

Nikita lowered his hand as he kept staring into Yuuri’s beautiful doe eyes. “Never, Yuu-chan. You’re perfect just the way you are. Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet?”

Yuuri considered Nikita’s words, but he wasn’t quite sure that was quite right. Nikita was talking about feelings, not attraction, his mind reasoned. He had always found it weird that he’d never felt a crush on anyone at school, or even a celebrity. Everyone had those, right? His sister had plastered her bedroom in boy-band posters. In fact, he’d caught her kissing them more than once, or sighing as she stared at them, practically with hearts in her eyes.

But in Yuuri’s case, yeah, okay, he admitted some people were nice to look at. Nikita, for one, with his dazzling blue eyes, and soft features. But the idea of something else happening between them just didn’t sit right with Yuuri. “Yeah, probably,” Yuuri eventually answered, not wishing to expand upon the subject. Nikita said nothing else, either.

* * *

About a week passed since that conversation took place between the two friends. Yuuri had noticed Nikita had become more affectionate towards him. When Yuuri had remarked upon it, Nikita had told him he actually loved to express his affection physically, but had been afraid to do so before. After that day, it was like a new trust had developed between them. Yuuri hadn’t rejected him because of his sexuality, something he was incredibly grateful for. Knowing Nikita meant nothing by it, Yuuri let this physical affection happen. It actually felt nice, comfortable.

The subject of Victor hadn’t come up again, either, even though Yuuri had learned the older Nikiforov was arriving later that day. Would he seek to contact Nikita? Perhaps he’d like to come by and say hi to Lilia? And the two brothers would eventually come into contact? Yuuri chose not to intervene. Doing so might seem like a betrayal towards his friend.

To his surprise, it was Nikita who brought the subject up.

“Madame Lilia asked if we’d like to go see the competition tomorrow,” He didn’t need to clarify he was talking about the skating competition. Evidently, it had been on everyone’s mind as of late.

“It’s up to you,” Yuuri answered truthfully.

“I’ve been thinking, Yuu-chan. Perhaps it would be good to try and reconnect. Besides, figure skating’s actually pretty cool. I think you’d like it.”

Yuuri had never been to an actual competition. He had, in fact, tried to learn skating when he was little, because of Minako’s suggestion. He’d even kept at it for a few months, mostly because he got to see Yuuko at the rink, but in the end, he’d decided to stick with ballet.

“I’m so glad,” Yuuri hugged his friend, knowing he responded better to physical touch, rather than words. Nikita simply held back.

Saturday evening saw the two friends at the skating rink, seated in the VIP area reserved for family and friends of the competitors. Yuuri couldn’t help but feel excited, the audience’s energy was contagious. He could even feel Nikita buzzing right beside him. Although, those could have been nerves, rather than excitement. Or maybe a mixture of both, Yuuri reasoned.

As he looked around, drinking in his surroundings, he suddenly felt his friend tense up beside him. Turning to look at the blond boy, he realized his gaze was fixed upon one of the skaters. Thanks to their privileged position, even Yuuri, with his bad eyesight, could make out the man’s features. He was tall, well-built with broad shoulders, alabaster skin, a pair of dazzling blue eyes, and a sharp nose. He was, in fact, a carbon copy of the person sitting beside him, if not for the sweeping silver hair, which was now tied up in a ponytail.

So, that was Victor Nikiforov.

The very famous Victor Nikiforov, in fact, judging from the deafening screams that inundated the arena as soon as he made an appearance.

Feeling like his hand was suddenly being crushed, Yuuri snapped his gaze towards Nikita, who was now holding onto it, almost like a lifeline. Yuuri didn’t really know what to say. He considered, for a moment, suggesting they leave. But Nikita had been so brave up until that moment. If he wanted to leave, Yuuri was sure he’d say so himself.

If Victor noticed his brother, his body language betrayed nothing. It was likely, since he’d seen him look around everywhere. Surely he knew, or at least suspected, his brother might be watching from the stands. All the while, Nikita remained tense, as Yuuri tried to silently calm him down.

As the competition progressed, both friends were wowed by the graceful movements and raw power the skaters exhibited. But if he’d been impressed by the competition, nothing could have prepared Yuuri for the likes of the reigning champion. Victor was at another level entirely. The way he glided across the ice, making it seem like he was floating on air, how he launched upon jump after jump, landing them as if he were a falling flower petal softly touching upon a patch of grass. He was, by Yuuri’s standards, the very definition of grace.

Even Nikita couldn’t help but acknowledge his brother’s talent. He had never actually seen him competing in person at Seniors level; just on TV, occasionally, when he’d been unable to stop his curiosity. To no one’s surprise, he ended up in first place, breaking a world record, his very own, in the process.

* * *

The pair chose to remain behind, right after everyone had left, so they could see Victor. He knew the place was less than ideal for trying to mend things between them, since it guaranteed no privacy. But maybe Nikita merely wanted to extend the hand of truce? And from there, they could talk in a more appropriate place.

The wait was excruciatingly long, what with reporters still abound, hoping to get some of the skaters’ statements on their tapes, or their cameras. But Yuuri didn’t mind, as long as he could be of assistance to his friend. He did have to leave him for a moment, though, when he felt the need to go to the bathroom. The rink was a very cold place, after all. Besides, Yuuri had drank two cups of hot coffee, in an attempt to warm himself up.

The arena was a veritable maze, and Yuuri, still largely unaccustomed to the Cyrillic letters, ended up getting lost. Eventually, he found what he assumed was the bathroom, and he went in. He was met by the sight of Victor and the skater that had finished up second for the day, a blond boy with soft curls. And they were kissing. Passionately.

Yuuri found himself glued on the spot, shocked by the sight. Objectively, he knew Victor was gay. His own brother had told him so. But hearing about it was nothing like actually seeing it in person. The door, which Yuuri hadn’t managed to shut yet, slipped from his grasp, closing itself with a loud slam, causing both skaters to break off the kiss and direct their attention towards the source of the noise.

“Who are you?” Victor asked, his voice tinged with annoyance.

Yuuri merely swallowed with difficulty, feeling like his throat was made out of cardboard.

“I-I’m s-so-sorry,” he stuttered after a few tense moments, all the while willing his legs to work so they could carry him out of this place. Clearly, he’d mistakenly ended up in the skaters’ locker room, which typically was off-limits to the general public.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Victor advanced towards the stuttering mess of a boy. Upon noticing the pass that hung around his neck from a lanyard, he reached out and lifted it towards himself. Seeing his very own name printed there, indicating this boy was actually his guest, his posture relaxed somewhat.

“So, you’re a fan. I see,” Victor didn’t question further. He knew the VIP tickets and passes he regularly sent Lilia for his brother, often ended up in the hands of strangers. People who had expressed an interest to see Victor skating in person, to whom Nikita inevitably gave the passes away, choosing not to attend, himself.

Yuuri’s voice still evaded him. Victor’s body language and the tone of his voice weren’t exactly what you would consider hostile, but they were far from friendly in any case. Certainly nothing like the image he’d portrayed on the ice, so mesmerizing and graceful.

An unamused smile drew itself on Victor’s lips, and the rest of his expression was hard to read. “How did you even get this?” he was clearly referring to the guest pass, which he was still holding. “Did you buy it off the internet?” his tone was laced with sarcasm, or was it actual malice? “Found it in some trashcan, perhaps?” he added with a scoff.

Yuuri was too shocked, not to mention offended by the tone of Victor’s voice, to register that hint of hurt the skater didn’t quite manage to hide. Nikita’s brother may be really talented on the ice, but his personality left much to be desired, from what Yuuri could tell. In any case, he was nothing like his sweet younger brother, which made Yuuri bristle.

Perhaps Nikita was right, after all, and this Victor truly cared about no one but himself. How was he even going to tell his friend about this? He’d managed to convince Nikita to pursue a reunion, convinced him his brother couldn’t be that selfish person Nikita made him out to be. And for what?

However, Yuuri barely had any time to ponder about his current predicament, before –in an act of what the Japanese boy could describe as nothing but mercy– the curly-haired boy stepped forward, placing a hand on Victor’s shoulder. What was his name again? Chris?

“Victor, _calme-toi_ ,” Chris murmured quietly, evidently taking pity on the poor boy whose only crime was walking through the wrong door by accident. “ _Viens, allons-y_ ,” he continued, in the same calm manner, barely sparing the raven-haired boy a glance.

Yuuri hadn’t the slightest clue what those words meant, but they seemed to have done the trick, as Victor finally let go of his pass. His mind hadn’t actually registered how the skater had been pulling on it, causing the lanyard to bite into his neck slightly.

Victor stared at him for a few moments longer before adding, in a completely different tone of voice –which sounded unnaturally cheerful and disgustingly fake, in Yuuri’s ears–. “You want a commemorative photo, then?” It almost sounded like he was mocking Yuuri, after what had just transpired. The smug smile on his face didn’t help, either.

Feeling his own eyes widen, Yuuri finally regained command of his legs and turned his back on Victor, walking out of the dressing room as hastily as his trembling legs could carry him. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, as he willed his heart to return to a more normal pace. What had just happened?

As he rounded the corner, he nearly crashed into Nikita, who had apparently been looking for him.

“Whoa, watch it!” Nikita said with a giggle, failing to see Yuuri’s distress at first.

“Yuu-chan?” he added in a more subdued tone of voice, sensing something was off. “Are you all right?”

“Y-yeah, I’m…” Yuuri trailed off, still trying to process everything. “I was just looking for you,” he eventually said, rather unconvincingly.

If Nikita noticed something was off, he chose not to say anything.

“Come on, let’s go,” Yuuri said with a smile, forgetting the reason they’d stayed behind in the first place. He was desperate to get out of that place, fearing to run into Victor again. His first impression had been pretty much the worst anyone could have about a person. Ever.

However, fate was not so kind to Yuuri, as merely seconds afterwards, he heard that same pair of voices from earlier. And they were getting louder progressively. Shit, that meant they were headed towards them. How could he get himself AND Nikita away from there, without making it seem too obvious that he was running away? He didn’t want his friend to figure out something was wrong, after all.

Sensing Yuuri’s distress, and becoming increasingly worried by the second, Nikita opened his mouth to say something. His friend was being much more of a ball or nerves that usual, and that was definitely saying something. However, whatever words he’d planned on uttering, died before they even had the chance to escape his lips. As two identical pairs of ocean blue eyes locked together unexpectedly, the world seemed to come to a screeching halt.

“Nikita…”

“Victor…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what are we thinking? Things aren't looking great for Victor at the moment!
> 
> Oh, before I forget.
> 
> Arabesque, sissone, fouetté, and pas de bourrée are all names of ballet positions and/or movements. They were all mentioned randomly, simply to indicate the terms were unfamiliar to Yuuri previously.
> 
> Calme-toi = Calm down  
> Viens, allons-y = Come on, let's go
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts! Feel free to shout at me here, or over on Twitter [@yuusagi_on_ice](https://twitter.com/yuusagi_on_ice)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> First of all, I want to thank you all for giving this story a chance. Your kudos, bookmarks and comments mean the world to me!
> 
> Real life has been getting in the way as of late, but I hope I can be a bit more steady with the updates!
> 
> This chapter was particularly difficult to write, as it touches upon delicate subjects: namely homophobia and mention of child abuse. Needless to say, I don't condone such vile acts.
> 
> This chapter doesn't really advance the story in the present time; rather, it focuses on Victor's past. I hope that, after reading this, you'll be able to forgive him for being so rude to poor Yuuri during the last chapter!
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

Paralyzed by the unexpectedness of the situation, the two brothers stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Victor, honest to goodness, hadn’t the slightest idea that he would be running into his younger brother. Why would he? After all, he’d tried to get in touch with him for years, albeit indirectly. Sending those VIP tickets and guest passes had been his way to let his brother know he wanted him back in his world, his life. A door that stood ajar in silent invitation, just waiting to be pushed wide open.

But the younger boy had never shown even the slightest interest. In fact, by now Victor was used to his indifference, causing him to wonder why he still bothered sending them at all. After all, he couldn’t deny it still hurt him tremendously to acknowledge the fact that Nikita could never be bothered to attend; preferring instead to either give them away, or even throw them away. Victor still remembered _that_ story going viral on social media. It still stung. Badly.

Such actions helped cement the idea in Victor’s head that his brother was not only hurt by his behavior –which, sadly, was justified– but actually embarrassed of him. Or rather, of his sexuality. After all, almost every single person in Russia had a homophobic mindset drilled into their heads from a very early age. And unfortunately, Victor and Nikita’s parents were the sort of people who vocalized their distaste of such _perversions_ –as they tended to refer to anything or anyone pertaining to the LGBT community– on a daily basis, to anyone who cared to listen. Sticking to such retrograde ideologies over your own child’s wellbeing was something that Victor still couldn’t wrap his head around.

Because, ultimately, wasn’t it the most inhumane of acts to kick a 16-year-old boy out of his own home? Just because one aspect of his life didn’t conform to your standards? Such was Victor’s story.

* * *

Having just completed his very last Junior season –in his very own home turf, no less– Victor was still riding high after getting so much praise and so many honors as an official representative of his country. Most of last year –like the previous one– had been spent in St. Petersburg, under Yakov’s care. Both he and his wife, Lilia, had been most accommodating, allowing him to live in their own home, and basically treating him like their own son.

Victor’s parents had allowed this, no questions asked. Naturally, having a child prodigy was something to brag about, a talent the older Nikiforovs were particularly gifted at. Their son Victor had just set a world record at Junior Worlds! He’d also conquered every single gold medal in the season! Someone who put Russia’s name that high in so many international competitions deserved nothing but the utmost respect.

Except, of course, when said person happened to like kissing golden-haired boys, just as much as he liked kissing those gold medals he worked so hard to earn.

Victor and Chris had actually been friends for a couple of years, seeing each other regularly during several competitions all throughout the year. Chris had always seemed to harbor deep admiration towards the slightly older boy; especially now, when he’d finally graduated from the Junior division.

Perhaps, it was due to the fact that they would no longer compete against each other for at least a year and a half –or maybe because he’d just conquered a silver medal, himself– which made Chris approach Victor and kiss him. On the mouth.

The kiss was as sweet and innocent as can be. A simple peck on the lips between two friends; two mere children, in fact. Yet, such a pure action made both boys realize something they’d kept buried deep within their hearts. In Victor’s case, such doubts had been plaguing him for at least a couple of years; in Chris’s case, they were pretty much newfound.

Tentatively, after their brief kiss ended, both friends stared at each other in silence; wide-eyed and feeling as though their hearts would jump out of their chests. Coming closer once again, amidst nervous giggles, their lips brushed against each other for a second time, just as softly as they had the first time. This was new, and forbidden; it was terrifying, yet thrilling.

The pair barely had any time to grasp the feeling, for it was in that moment that Victor’s parents –with a 12-year-old Nikita in tow– walked in on them to witness, firsthand, the horrifying debauchment of their first-born. Because, of course, in the Nikiforovs’ eyes, their son could do no wrong. No, this was that Swiss boy’s fault. Clearly, he’d been brought up with loose morals and a severe lack of discipline. Hell would freeze over before they let that _freak_ , that… _pervert_ , corrupt their righteous, pure child.

* * *

Usually, after experiencing your very first kiss, the ensuing feeling should be happiness. Giddiness, maybe. Certainly not shame, or fear, or whatever horrid mix of emotions Victor was feeling right now, as he rode in the backseat of his parents’ car, next to his clueless brother.

After a hurried stop by the dressing room –merely to pack up Victor’s belongings– the four Nikiforovs were currently on their way home. They had offered no explanations, whatsoever, regarding their sudden departure; not even to Victor’s coach, much less to the press. In fact, ever since catching Victor and that _degenerate_ red-handed, they hadn’t spoken a word at all.

The ride back home was one of the worst experiences in Victor’s life. It was actually so bad that, almost six years later, Victor still couldn’t remember most of it; having subconsciously blocked the bitter experience from his mind.

All he knew, all he could remember, was how he’d literally been dragged into his father’s study, right after getting home on that fateful day. His parents had locked themselves in with him, and drilled him with all sorts of uncomfortable questions. _Did he touch you inappropriately? Did he take advantage of you in any other way? Has anyone else ever made such advances towards you?_

 _What?!_ Victor’s mind could barely register what the interrogation was about. He’d expected to be lectured, for sure. But this? So, they thought Chris had, what? _Raped_ him? The young skater let out a heartbreaking wail when he heard his father say he’d take lawful action against the Swiss boy, even if he couldn’t be held legally accountable for his misdeeds –for, just like Victor, Chris was still a minor–.

Still –the oldest Nikiforov surmised– they could surely stir up enough of a scandal to end the boy’s career, before it even had a chance to really take off. Before he had the chance to spread his poison and corrupt other innocent boys, just like he’d attempted to do with their son.

Victor had no doubts, whatsoever, that his father’s threat was not an empty one. He knew far well, from experience, that his father rarely took back his words. He couldn’t let them hurt Chris, who had done nothing wrong. For in fact, how did a couple of curious, innocent kisses between friends, provoke his father’s wrath –nay, his hatred– in such a manner?

Deep within his heart, Victor hoped that, when it came to their own child –no matter how irate, or even disappointed, his parents were– they would never actually dare to do anything that could hurt him, or his career; if only to protect their own name from being dragged into the mud.

And so, it was that Victor decided to come clean, despite how terrified he actually was. Steeling himself –and feeling a pang in his heart that was both terrifying, as it was liberating– Victor spoke aloud those fateful words his parents could have never, ever hoped to hear; not even in their worst nightmares.

_I’m gay._

Once that terrible truth was out, it was official. There was no taking those accursed words back, now. Victor Nikiforov, the skating prodigy, and Russia’s national treasure, was a _homosexual_. _A faggot. A goddamn cocksucker. An utter disgrace._

* * *

To this day, if one were to look carefully, the scar was still visible, right underneath Victor’s left eyebrow. That was where his father’s fist –or rather, his ring– had struck. But, as messy and bloody as the affair had been, what had hurt Victor the most weren’t the various bruises or cuts that had marred his face and body for several weeks after the altercation. It was the fact that those simple words had changed the course of his life forever; two syllables had left him homeless and disowned, forced to unexpectedly fend for his own.

But there was also the fact that from that moment on, he became a freak. And as such, he should stay away from his brother, lest he corrupt him with his _perversions_. Nikita would fare much better without such a terrible influence in his life. Besides, it wasn’t as if Victor hadn’t already hurt him enough as it was.

The fact was, the silver-haired boy had always been regarded as some sort of an idol by his baby brother, who sought to imitate him in every way. From his hairstyle, to his clothing; even his skating, which was what had caused the younger boy’s accident, several years ago.

Nikita wasn’t even 8 years old when his femur had shattered. Badly. The boy had been attempting that jump –that accursed triple flip, which a then-12-year-old Victor had only mastered, himself– when he landed so off-center that his bone simply couldn’t take it. Any hopes for a career in figure skating had been taken from him in a matter of seconds.

Nobody had blamed Victor back then. The younger boy had simply been too foolish to attempt something so far beyond his skill level, or even his age; yet, everyone understood it was unavoidable, given his constant desire to emulate and impress Victor.

It was then that Nikita had taken up ballet, as part of his rehabilitation therapy. Everyone knew he would never make it as a professional danseur, no matter how hard he worked. His injury –not to mention the titanium nails that had been drilled into his bone– would certainly leave sequels, which would affect his performance later on. At least, that’s what the doctors had told his parents, and Victor had accidentally overheard. Nikita didn’t know. He could _never_ know.

* * *

Thoughts of his brother had plagued Victor’s mind constantly, ever since arriving in St. Petersburg, a bit over a year ago. Even though he’d been living in that city for the most part of the two years prior –before moving permanently– it was different this time, knowing he no longer had a home to return to. Sure, Yakov and Lilia had been kind enough to take him in, something he would be eternally grateful for; but their mansion, as impressive as it was, still didn’t feel like home. Much less so now, when they were in the process of getting a divorce.

In fact, the only places that felt like home in this city were the ice rink, and the beach. When the weather permitted it, Victor often found himself sitting on one of the walls of Peter and Paul Fortress, overlooking the Neva. For some reason, the cries of the seagulls seemed to calm him down. But the river here was always the same, for there were no ever-changing tides to bring about any exciting changes. Victor often reflected how these waters mirrored his own current situation.

It was on a chilly April afternoon, when Yakov came to retrieve the boy from this very spot –shortly after finishing his first season as a Senior– that Victor asked a favor of him. He’d been thinking about it for months now, even though he knew it could amount to nothing, considering Nikita’s condition. But at the very least, he had to try. He might not be able to do much to better his own situation, except continue skating; but he _could_ do something to help his brother.

“It’s Nikita’s birthday today,” Victor said out of the blue, in a sad monotone. “He’s turning fourteen, can you believe it?” a hollow laugh escaped the boy’s lips this time, as realization hit. He’d missed the thirteenth year of Nikita’s life in its entirety.

“I miss him so much,” his voice broke, in a clear indication of tears, which were so common nowadays. Except, the boy was usually alone when they silently slid down his cheeks. Yakov knew, of course; after all, the hurt Victor was carrying inside was much too deep to keep contained within his poor, wounded heart.

“But I can’t face him. Not after the way I just… disappeared, when everything went to Hell.” There was a long pause, in which Victor reminisced the last time he’d seen his brother.

“You should have seen the way he looked at me. He was so frightened. Nobody bothered to explain to him why his big brother was being kicked out of the house all of a sudden,” that same mirthless laughter escaped Victor’s lips once again. “Or what crime he’d committed, that was so terrible to deserve such a beating from his own father.”

Unfazed by Yakov’s lack of reply, Victor went on. He knew the man was listening; he always did. “I should have said how much I love him. I should have said I wasn’t abandoning him. But I didn’t. I haven’t…” Victor’s sadness eventually became too much to bear, materializing in the form of powerful, heartbroken sobs.

Yakov’s silence persisted, allowing the boy that much needed chance to let his grief escape him. He had always been a much better listener, anyway. At least, when he wasn’t yelling at his skaters for disobeying him, which was quite a regular occurrence.

For several moments, only the cries of the seagulls, along with Victor’s sobs and sniffles permeated the otherwise silent atmosphere.

Eventually, Victor ran out of tears. For the moment, at least. “Can I ask a favor?”, he asked after a long while, in a much more subdued tone than the one he’d been using earlier. A soft grumble let him know his coach was still listening; that he had been doing so this whole time, just like Victor had assumed.

“Would you convince Lilia to take Nikita on, as a student? I’ll pay for his lessons and his stay, but neither of them can know.”

Heaving a tired sigh, Yakov removed his hat, running his hand over his mostly bald head. “You do realize what you’re asking, right?” Yakov answered in an equally weary manner, placing his hat back on. Evidently, the old coach was familiar with Nikita’s situation.

Victor did. Of course, he did; even if he was uncertain whether the doctor’s prognosis had changed at all, or if it ever would. Having Nikita learn ballet under one of the best ballerinas Russia had ever seen, only for him to realize he would never be able to reach the required level to satisfy Lilia’s –or the industry’s– demands, well… It could shatter him, permanently.

On the other hand, there was always the possibility that he would beat the odds; and even if he never made it to the likes of the Bolshoi or the Mariinsky, perhaps he could become a successful danseur with a smaller company.

But the boy dared not voice any of these conflicting thoughts. It wasn’t like he needed to, anyway, for Victor’s silence was answer enough for Yakov.

“It won’t be easy. Lilia doesn’t take just anyone on. Only the very best will do,” the old coach added.

“Yes, I know.” One of Lilia’s students himself, Victor was well aware of the fact that the woman was an even stricter teacher than Yakov was, which was saying a lot. “But I also know my brother.”

After a long pause, Yakov spoke again. “Suppose Lilia agrees. How do you expect to keep your involvement a secret? When he learns I’m recommending him, he’ll put two and two together, and so will your parents.” Yakov could see the flaws in Victor’s plan right away.

“It doesn’t matter. Besides, we’ll be in Sochi by then. I will make sure the media knows I’ve relocated there. I only need the funding bit to be kept a secret. Lilia can’t know where the money’s coming from, and neither can Nikita.”

“Don’t underestimate the woman, boy. She’ll see right through it,” Yakov countered.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Victor conceded defeat. “As long as she keeps it a secret from Nikita, then… He absolutely can’t know.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can do,” Yakov replied wearily, sounding as though it was a lost cause already.

“Thank you, Yakov,” Victor smiled up at the old coach, nonetheless, letting the genuine gratitude he was feeling show in his expression. If his plan actually materialized, then he would be giving his brother the chance of a lifetime. Perhaps, then, the next step would be finding the courage to actually face him, and apologize to him.

* * *

The Summer of 2006 wasn’t all triumphs and smiles, though, for it also marked the finalization of Lilia and Yakov’s divorce. Shortly after, the old coach left St. Petersburg and relocated to Sochi, along with his student. Yakov had naturally let Victor stay in his residence, since the boy wouldn’t come of age for another six months. By then, the season would be well underway, and both of their schedules much too hectic.

When it came to his skating, Victor was in a good place. He had a lot of confidence in his new programs. They were strong, and he had managed to incorporate even more complex jumps, which would definitely give him the edge. Quads, too, save for that elusive flip –and the axel, of course, but let’s not even talk about that one–, which he was certain he’d master someday. All he needed was more practice, and before long, he’d shock the entire world as the first and sole person to ratify the jump in competition.

As for his personal life, Victor preferred not to think about it too much. After all, it was far easier to lose himself in his skating, and let himself become physically exhausted; just so his mind wouldn’t have much energy left to torment him with constant reminders of the fact that he no longer had a family, or how lonely he actually was.

* * *

The season Victor came of age, was also the season that saw the skater finally attempt to make contact with his younger brother, albeit indirectly.

Back then, Victor was a much more naïve person, despite the hard trials he’s already faced in his short life. That was why, when Yakov had informed him Nikita would be moving to St. Petersburg over the summer to study ballet, and lodging in his own former residence –now solely Lilia’s– Victor had wanted to believe, with all his heart, that everything would work out for the better.

Realistically, Victor couldn’t expect the younger boy to still worship the brother who had not just abandoned him; but in fact, not even attempted to contact him, in over two years. Still, seeing that dream realized, was what ultimately gave Victor the courage to send Nikita a couple of VIP passes and prime tickets for the competition that would be taking place in Moscow that year.

Naturally, Victor had listed Lilia as the sender, figuring correspondence from Nikita’s future teacher would raise no suspicion. The hope of seeing his brother after such a long time, overpowered any fear the skater felt over going back to his birth city. Victor assumed, correctly, that his parents would definitely steer clear of anything that had to do with figure skating. Thus, the chance of encountering them was minimal.

However, nothing prepared the skater for the shock and hurt he felt upon learning the fate of said tickets and passes.

With the ever-increasing popularity of social media, Victor was long used to people tagging him all the time on both MySpace and Facebook. It was normal for him find hundreds –even thousands– of notifications every time he checked his email. While he did get his fair share of negative comments, the vast majority of these messages expressed his fans’ love, which he was eternally grateful for.

However, seeing the same link posted over and over again, eventually piqued Victor’s curiosity, and he decided to visit the mysterious website. He had no idea what he was about to read.

 

**_Lucky fan finds VIP World Figure Skating Championship passes in the trash_ **

_Moscow. As she was taking the trash out this morning, Sophia Petrova –a local resident, and huge Victor Nikiforov fan– got the surprise of a lifetime. The young woman came across a pair of highly coveted VIP passes, along with tickets, which allow the holder to sit in the exclusive viewing area, typically reserved for the athletes’ families or acquaintances. As such, these types of tickets aren’t available to the public._

_Since then, the authenticity of these items has been confirmed by the International Skating Union (ISU), stating these were issued under Victor Nikiforov’s name, whose–._

 

Victor closed the article immediately, unable to bring himself to read the rest of it. As he choked back a sob, Victor wondered if he’d honestly expected a different outcome. Another ugly thought crossed the skater’s mind, then. Surely, by now, Nikita had found out Victor was gay, and was disgusted by him. Perhaps his parents had told him, in an attempt to curb any such tendencies from their youngest.

Well, apparently such was the fate of a homosexual in Russia, it seemed. But Victor couldn’t change his nature, any more than the sun could stop from setting, or the tides from ebbing and flooding.

Victor’s mood dampened considerably after the incident; although an outsider would never be able to tell, considering how many gold medals Victor raked up that year. That very season saw Chris Giacometti move up to the Senior division; although, as fate would have it, the two skaters wouldn’t get to see each other at all, until the start of the following year, when Euros took place.

Chris hadn’t medaled back then, but he had witnessed Victor taking gold. Nothing less could be expected from the Russian sensation, who’d just had a stellar season, soaring above the competition effortlessly.

It was just after the award ceremony that their brief interaction had taken place. Chris had yelled Victor’s name from the stands, congratulating him on his win; and the latter had gifted him with both a smile, and a flower, along with the promise to see each other at Worlds.

No other words were spoken between them; not about their former close friendship, or about the kisses they’d shared, merely two years ago. Perhaps the pair had simply moved on, and their previous actions became nothing more than a playful interaction between kids, no significance behind them at all. Perhaps, some relationships just weren’t meant to last.

* * *

And so, Victor got on with his life. Upon their return to Sochi –having finally come of age a few months prior, and with more than enough funds in his bank account– Victor had opted to find his own apartment. No matter how much of a father figure Yakov was to him, he couldn’t keep depending on his generosity forever. Besides, he needed his own space. It was also during that year that Victor got a large poodle, whom he named Makkachin, and his life became a little better; his inescapable loneliness a bit more bearable.

His public persona, though, told a different tale. All those interviews and photoshoots painted Victor Nikiforov as an outgoing, friendly guy, who always sported a dazzling smile. After all –despite being so young– to the world, he was handsome, rich, famous, successful, you name it. What else could he possibly ask for? It was the kind of life everyone aspired to achieve one day.

There was one tiny detail, though, that became much cause for speculation. What about his love life? Surely, he must have a sweetheart somewhere. After all, Victor was a dream come true, who could certainly get any woman he set his eyes on. _Any. Single. One._ So how come he had never been spotted with a beautiful girl on his arm?

The world assumed he was simply too busy to dedicate enough of his time to a romantic relationship. The ice was his love, first and foremost. Besides, perhaps Victor wasn’t a man who could belong to a single woman. He belonged to each and every one of his fans. He belonged to the world. And so, the world let it slide.

What nobody knew, or even suspected, was the fact that Victor did, indeed, have a sweetheart.

* * *

That season finally saw him compete against Chris Giacometti once again. Unlike during the previous one, this time Victor and Chris ended up being sorted into a lot of the same competitions. This fortunate coincidence gave the old rivals –and former friends– the chance to skate against each other once again.

The pair had quickly rekindled their friendship. It was, indeed, so easy to talk to each other; to trust each other. Perhaps it was due to the fact that they both shared a dirty, little secret; one neither of them could possibly divulge to the world. Least of all Victor, who stood to lose so much due to his nationality, and his country’s stance towards homosexuality.

Over the months –as the skating season progressed– the pair got many chances to spend some time together, in various cities all over the globe. Slowly, yet steadily, both boys got to know each other all over again as they took a stroll in the _Parc du Bois-de-Coulonge_ , in Québec; and an unassuming Parisian café became the place where the first seedlings of love were planted between them, over a cup of coffee.

However, it wasn’t until the following year, as the skating season neared its end –when the pair reunited in Gothenburg, Sweden, for Worlds– that Victor confessed the truth to Chris about his parents. What a stark contrast it was, to tell such a gut-wrenching tale, while surrounded by such beautiful scenery.

The _sakura_ trees were just blooming this time of year in the _Botaniska Trädgården_. Victor and Chris were lucky to witness them, for these blossoms, while beautiful, were ephemeral. In fact, in a couple weeks’ time, they would wilt, leaving death in their place, along with the promise of a new beginning.

Victor clung to that thought, for it was almost poetic how his burgeoning relationship with Chris mirrored these beautiful trees. For it was in this place –after his life had been violently disrupted, three years ago– that Victor could finally say he was happy.

After many tears were shed, leaving a pair of shoulders thoroughly soaked, the pair had returned to the hotel they shared with most of the skaters. Since it was so late already, they were lucky enough not to run into any members of the press. Victor was incredibly grateful for that fact, for his emotions were very raw, after recounting his sad tale to Chris; and certainly, he was in no mood for invasive questions.

A silent agreement passed between the two teens, who ended up in Victor’s hotel room. It was there, when they were finally afforded a modicum of privacy, that Victor finally dared let go of his self-restraint. He practically threw himself at Chris, nearly crushing him with the force of his desperate embrace.

“Chris,” Victor’s broken whisper betrayed just how truly lost, and powerless he was. Keeping up a façade, for the sake of the fans and the press, was exhausting. He wasn’t the invincible champion everyone thought him to be. On the ice, sure. But otherwise…

In Chris’s arms, he found shelter; he found acceptance. His friend wouldn’t betray, or abandon him. He wouldn’t judge, either. Victor’s heart soared as the blond boy’s arms circled him as well, conveying how strongly he reciprocated those emotions.

“I love you, Chris. I love you so much,” Victor whispered tenderly, before resting his head on the slightly taller boy’s shoulder. He wasn’t afraid to open up his heart; for he knew, deep inside, that his feelings were very much requited.

Chris moved away from Victor slightly –in order to stare at his beautiful face– and the green of his beautiful eyes seemed to pierce Victor’s very soul. And Victor _knew_ , right then and there.

The kiss that ensued was inevitable, as both pairs of lips gravitated towards each other in a languid dance. Their third kiss, –which in reality felt like their very first– was slow, deliberate. At 19, and 17, respectively, both teens knew exactly what they wanted; unlike their younger selves, who merely saw the whole thing as an innocent game.

Tears slid down Victor’s cheeks once again, as he felt his mouth being breached by Chris’s tongue. As inexperienced as they both were, they soon found their rhythm. Tender hands caressed each other’s backs, through the heavy jackets they were both still wearing. Soon, Victor felt Chris’s hands undoing his ponytail, and running his nimble fingers through the long, silvery strands.

When the kiss finally broke, Chris took the long strands to his mouth instead, and kissed Victor’s beautiful hair in an act of near reverence. His eyes were closed, as he inhaled the scent of the Russian man’s shampoo, mixed with the smell of the flower petals that had fallen on it earlier.

Victor shivered, not because he was cold; but because he’d never expected to feel such elation, and such pure contentment, as he did right now. Looking up, he saw Chris’s lovely green eyes finally open, as the most beautiful smile settled upon the features he’d come to adore.

“I love you too, Vitya. I always have,” Chris confessed, as he brought his thumb to dry one of Victor’s tears. “And it would be my greatest honor if you’d allow me to call myself your boyfriend,” he finished in a silent whisper.

“Yes!” Victor’s tears were renewed at once, although these were far too different from his earlier ones. These were, in fact, the happiest ones he’d ever shed in his life.

Giddy with laughter, Victor pecked Chris’s lips. “Yes,” he repeated, before kissing said lips again. “A million times”, he kissed Chris yet again. “Yes,” a fourth kiss ensued. “ _Boyfriend_ ,” Victor’s cheeks flushed as he said the word.

“ _Boyfriend_ ,” Chris agreed, before wrapping his arms around Victor once again.

* * *

Said boyfriend’s hand brought Victor back to reality, as it was gently placed on the silver-haired man’s shoulder. It seemed like an eternity ago, when Victor and Nikita’s eyes had met, after so many years. Their shock had been such, that the pair had been rendered utterly speechless and motionless for several awkward moments.

“Why?” Victor rasped eventually, feeling his throat constrict, as so many painful memories flashed before his very eyes.

Nikita’s posture tensed, unsure what to make of his brother’s tone of voice. Was he actually demanding to know _why he was here?_ Why had he sent those tickets, then? He thought he’d been prepared to face him, especially with Yuuri by his side. How wrong he’d been. Instinctively, he inched closer to his friend, seeking his silent, unassuming strength. He needed it now, more than ever.

Victor couldn’t help but let out a mirthless, broken laugh, as Nikita and the Asian boy’s hands entwined, seemingly in a gesture of quiet reassurance.

The skater’s heart sunk in his chest as he reflected on how he’d let out his frustration on the poor boy, just because he could; even thought he’d done nothing wrong to deserve his disdain. Thinking him no more than a random stranger, he’d shown him the worst side of himself; never stopping to consider, for even a moment, that he might actually be his own brother’s friend. Or acquaintance, Victor wasn’t sure.

Whatever their relationship was, Victor was certain of one thing. By offending the raven-haired boy, he’d probably shot his chances at reconnecting with Nikita. Surely, a friend was far more trustworthy in the younger Nikiforov’s eyes, than his very own estranged brother could ever be.

For long moments, both parties stared at each other. Victor’s expression was unreadable; Chris’s showed concern. Yuuri still seemed afraid, and uncomfortable. And Nikita…. Nikita didn’t know how to feel.

None of them dared to utter a word, afraid of saying the wrong thing, and making the situation even worse.

Nikita expected an apology. Victor did as well. Chris expected Victor to offer Yuuri one. But none came.

“Clearly, this isn’t the right place, or time.” Always the voice of reason, it was actually Chris who eventually broke the silence; which, at this point, had become unbearable.

“I agree,” Nikita replied quietly, as he squeezed Yuuri’s hand even harder, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“Victor…?” Chris urged, hoping his boyfriend would find it in himself to actually say something to his brother. Perhaps agree with him; or maybe ask him to talk later, in a more secluded place.

Still, Victor remained impassive. Chris knew him far too well; he understood Victor was fighting a silent battle within himself, and this was extremely hard for him to process. But Nikita didn’t. His friend didn’t, either.

“Come on, Yuuri. Let’s go,” Nikita’s voice betrayed his disappointment towards his brother, who still remained adamant in his silence.

Nikita’s expression was one of utter disappointment and dejection, as he tugged Yuuri along, walking away from the person he’d once idolized. The person he still loved, and desperately hoped to be loved back by. How stupid he’d been to let himself believe, even for a moment, that Victor would change his selfish ways.

“I’m sorry!” Victor yelled desperately –his voice betraying the presence of tears– as a pair of retreating backs moved further and further away.

Nikita simply walked away faster, as bitter tears ran down his face, as well. He simply couldn’t do this.

Seeing a lost cause for what it was, Victor’s knees buckled under his weight, and he found himself overcome with powerful sobs. He’d had his chance, and he’d blown it, over his stupid pride. Or was it fear?

“I’m sorry,” Victor whispered once again, as he felt a pair of strong arms envelop him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” his pitiful whines were muffled against Chris’s warm chest.

What would the world say, if it saw its champion so utterly defeated? But fate had seemingly granted Victor a small mercy, for once. Soon, all the lights were turned off in the arena, allowing Victor’s tears to be swallowed up by nothing but forgiving darkness.

No one would ever know…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dears! First of all, I want to say I'm really thankful for every comment, every kudos, every bookmark and every subscription. It means the world to me, and it keeps me motivated to keep writing. Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart!
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The ride back to Madame Lilia’s estate was silent. As both boys sat in the back of a cab, Nikita held onto Yuuri’s warm hand, almost like a lifeline. While he wasn’t ready to talk, he still wanted to make sure Yuuri knew he appreciated his being there, more than anything in the world.

As the cab made its way across the rainy streets of St. Petersburg –how ironic that the weather itself seemed to mirror the bleak situation– Nikita’s tears kept running down his cheeks in utter silence. He wasn’t sobbing, or even sniffling. No, his tears fell from his cerulean eyes by the mere pull of gravity.

Before long, both boys found themselves walking hand in hand across the path that led to the impressive residence’s front gate. Fortunately, the pair didn’t run into Lilia, or anyone else. Most likely, everyone had already retired for the night, since it was almost midnight by the time they made it back.

Nikita beelined straight for his bedroom, with Yuuri in tow. His emotions were an indecipherable puzzle; going from hurt to angry, to confused, to _who even knows what_ in a matter of seconds. He needed solitude in order to sort out the jumble of feelings, and actually process what just had happened.

“Thank you, Yuu-chan,” Nikita whispered, as he squeezed his best friend’s hand one final time, before opening his bedroom door, and stepping in silently. Mere seconds after the wooden pane closed, Yuuri could hear the telltale sound of a lock being thrown.

Knowing it was futile to remain there, waiting, Yuuri forced his legs to carry him down the aisle, and into the bathroom. With everything that had transpired, the boy had actually forgotten that the very thing that had accidentally led him to Victor in the first place, was his need to relieve himself.

As Yuuri took care of his business, his mind was assaulted with thoughts of the silver-haired skater. Now that he had had a moment to process what had happened, he remembered that flash of hurt over Victor’s face. That fake smile could only hide so much; it was his eyes that disclosed his true emotions. And the way his wet scream had pierced through the otherwise silent arena, begging for Nikita’s forgiveness, betrayed genuine regret. No one was that good an actor, Yuuri surmised.

The scene replayed in Yuuri’s head over and over again, as he changed clothes, getting ready for bed. He knew tonight would be a sleepless night anyway, but at the very least he had to try.  Hopefully, Nikita would be ready to talk tomorrow, and Yuuri should be well-rested if that was the case. The Japanese boy knew it would take a lot out of the both of them. Emotionally. He just hoped he had the right words for his friend when the time came. Not the ones he wanted, but the ones he _needed_.

* * *

 

The silver haired man himself fared no better. In fact, he was handling his frustration and his pain in the worst sort of way. Perhaps, it had to do with the fact that he stood to lose so much more; or maybe, it was because he was so used to bottling up his emotions for the sake of keeping up appearances. Whatever the reason, the moment Victor let go of his self-restraint, the results were catastrophic, to put it mildly.

After Nikita and his friend had walked away, Chris had allowed Victor to cry to his heart’s content, while wrapping his warm arms around his boyfriend, who clearly needed him more than ever. The front of his jacket had actually been soaked through with Victor’s heartbroken tears, which, in turn, broke Chris’s heart.

For the very first time in his life, the Swiss boy had found himself powerless to quell Victor’s sadness, for this kind of pain ran much too deep. Deeper, perhaps, than the ache and humiliation Victor’s parents had put him through. Because, in the end, his parents had hurt Victor, and Victor alone. But where Nikita was concerned, Victor was actually the one doing the hurting.

Fortunately, Victor had almost calmed down by the time both their coaches found them in the darkness of the cold arena. Both coaches were none the wiser as to what had just occurred, and Chris wasn’t about to let them in on the secret. That would be Victor’s decision, of course.

Just like Yakov, Josef was well aware the two boys were actually a couple; had been for over three years by now, if memory served right. So, it wasn’t uncommon to find them hugging, or kissing, or otherwise displaying their affection for each other in those rare, precious moments of solitude they could get together. In public, of course, as far as the world was concerned, they were merely close friends. Nothing else.

That was why the image of the two kneeling boys, who were pretty much clinging to each other in the darkness, was met not just with acceptance, but as something normal. Expected, even. That in itself was a huge relief, as Chris certainly didn’t feel like explaining the situation, and Victor seemed utterly incapable of speech at the moment.

After sweet-talking both men, Chris had convinced them to go on ahead, back to the hotel, with the promise that they wouldn’t stay up too late. They just wanted to catch up, for a long-distance relationship was tough. Surely, they understood?

To Chris’s immense relief, if either of them saw through the lie, or even noticed Victor’s stubborn silence and overall defeated demeanor, thankfully they said nothing at all.

* * *

 

The couple made their way back several minutes later, after making sure Victor’s face didn’t look like a mess. They couldn’t be too careful; in case some members of the press were still lurking about. However, all restraint the Russian boy had managed to muster up so far, quite literally went to hell as soon as the couple stepped into the hotel. The hotel’s bar, more specifically.

“Victor,” Chris’s tone held a tinge of exasperation, as he saw his boyfriend knock back his third drink. He had no idea what Victor was consuming, since he’d ordered himself, in Russian. But he knew it was definitely something strong, from the powerful smell alone.

“Victor,” Chris tried again, placing his hand on his boyfriend’s forearm, almost in warning.

“Hmm,” Victor mumbled, before catching the bartender’s eye once again and signaling with all five of his fingers held up.

“Let’s go back upstairs, please,” Chris pleaded silently, watching in disbelief as the bartender actually placed five tumblers on the counter, lining them up next to each other, before proceeding to fill them up with some honey-colored drink.

“Enough!” Chris persisted, even if this conversation was completely one-sided, for Victor wasn’t answering. In fact, he wasn’t even bothering to pretend to listen to a single word Chris said.

Victor managed to snatch up three of the short glasses, taking advantage of his superior reflexes, and consuming the treacherous liquid in one, two, three gulps. As for the other two, Chris moved them aside quickly, out of Victor’s reach.

But Victor was unfazed as he stood up, swaying a bit on his feet, before reaching over the counter and snatching up a bottle at random, and drinking straight from it.

“ _Merde_ ,” Chris swore under his breath before nearly wrestling the bottle out of his boyfriend’s grasp.

Not having had any dinner yet, despite the very late hour –and after the exertion of the competition– Victor was, understandably so, well-past the point of tipsy, and on his way to full-fledged drunkenness.

The problem was, drunk Victor equaled flirty Victor, and Chris was convinced that was the very last thing the Russian skater needed right now. He _had_ seen some of the other patrons steal curious glances their way, after all. They were fans, probably; or, god forbid, members of the press. They couldn’t let their guard slip.

A very puzzled bartender stared at the nearly empty bottle, the one Victor had snatched and drunk from, mere moments earlier. He’d turned his back on the silver-haired man for merely a couple of minutes. When had he gotten to it?

“I’m so sorry,” Chris apologized on Victor’s behalf, as he tried to pry said man away from himself. By now, Victor had pretty much turned into an octopus, and was clinging to his man like his life depended on it. In the eyes of any outsider, Chris wasn’t sure this could pass up as mere friendship.

The only thing the Swiss skater was certain of, was that if he wanted to avoid an imminent disaster, the time to act was now. Taking advantage of the fact that he was already partially supporting Victor’s weight, the taller skater half-carried the man out of the bar, after providing the bartender with Victor’s room number, so he could charge the cost of the drinks to his open tab.

The ride up the elevator was blessedly devoid of onlookers. Yet, it was still the most uncomfortable in Chris’s life. In any other circumstance, Chris, who was a highly sexual individual, would actually be thrilled with the way Victor was trying to slip his clumsy hand down his pants. Public sex seemed thrilling enough. But not like this, not here; not after what just happened.

By the time they got to Victor’s room, Chris’s arms were starting to get tired from supporting his boyfriend. _Their_ room, in actual fact, even if a different reservation under Christophe Giacometti did exist –for the sake of keeping up appearances– along with a room to go with it, which had remained untouched since the previous occupants, whoever they were, had vacated it.

“Where’s your keycard?” Chris’s tone was flat, hiding the annoyance he was feeling right now. He was trying to be understanding, considering, but Victor was certainly trying his patience. The method Victor was chosen to deal with the problem at hand, was most definitely not the way to go about it.

“Down my pants,” Victor slurred, gigging stupidly. “Here,” he grabbed Chris’s wrist, pulling it to the front of his own crotch, and trying to force his boyfriend’s hand into his own sweatpants.

“What are you doing?!” Chris hissed angrily, wriggling his own hand free of Victor’s grasp.

“You’re no fun,” Victor whined, pouting, as he literally started stripping right in the hallway.

Deciding to ignore him, in order to focus his attention on his search, Chris propped Victor against the wall. Making sure his boyfriend wouldn’t fall or slip, the Swiss boy knelt on the floor, where he started rummaging the contents of Victor’s gear bag.

Fortunately, he found the elusive keycard before Victor’s intoxicated mind realized the disadvantaged position Chris had put himself in. Had he been a bit more sober and in control of his actions, Victor would have certainly thrust his very naked cock right into Chris’s face.

Chris was so pissed right now, he literally shoved Victor inside the room, slamming the door shut. The Swiss boy had to bite his tongue, before the most colorful expletives he knew could pour right out of his mouth.

All those years of putting up a façade, being extra careful in the way they acted around each other, just to make sure no one found about the true nature of their relationship, could have gone to high hell in a matter of seconds. All because of Victor’s recklessness.

And Chris would have ditched Victor for the night, in order to actually make use of his own room. He really would, had it not been for the picture Victor presented. The Russian boy looked so pathetic with his clothes halfway off, posture slouched, and expression broken, that Chris’s own heart sunk upon the pitiful view.

“Come here, darling,” he offered instead, as he walked over to Victor, with his arms outstretched.

Victor allowed himself to be carried over to their bed, where Chris laid him down carefully. His mind was so foggy he barely registered Chris stripping the rest of his clothes off, save for his underwear, which he actually slid up into place. And then, Victor knew no more, as sleep mercifully claimed him.

* * *

 

The next morning, which was a Sunday, Yuuri found himself standing outside Nikita’s bedroom, already in his practice clothes. After thinking about it, throughout his sleepless night, he’d figured a rigorous workout could be useful in helping Nikita channel his emotions, before he could put them into actual words.

“Niki-chan?” Yuuri called out, rapping his fingers softly on the door.

Nothing.

“Niki-chan,” Yuuri tried again, in a slightly louder voice. He knew his friend was in there. Having stayed up all night, Yuuri would have heard him if he’d walked out, for that meant passing in front of his very own room. Nikita’s was located farther down the aisle.

Soft rustling of fabric, which indicated movement within, was heard, before the muted patter of approaching socked feet grew louder in Yuuri’s ears. Seconds later, the door open to reveal Nikita, who was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, minus the heavy jacket and his shoes. The black circles under his eyes, as well as his pale countenance, suggested sleeplessness as well.

“Come on, let’s go to the studio,” Yuuri said, in a calm, steady voice. He knew he had to appear sure of himself; else, there would be no persuading his friend.

“Too tired,” Nikita mumbled, before attempting to walk back to his bed.

“We already slacked off yesterday,” Yuuri reminded him gently. Even though they technically had the weekends off, the pair typically liked to put in at least a couple of hours’ studio time. Nothing too demanding, just stretches and maybe some free-form.

“Don’t care,” Nikita continued in the same tired manner.

“Would you rather talk, instead?” Yuuri offered kindly.

Nikita shook his head slowly, purposefully avoiding looking at Yuuri.

“You know you have to, eventually. I won’t push you if you’re not ready, Niki-chan. I just want you to know I’m here to listen, whenever that time comes,” Yuuri’s voice was soft and gentle, just like his words, as his hands found Nikita’s own, which he squeezed affectionately.

“If you don’t want to go to the studio, that’s okay, too, but you can’t stay cooped in here all day, all by yourself. Come on, let’s go have some breakfast at least,” Yuuri coaxed, hoping to get any sort of response from his friend.

“Wait,” Nikita begged, pulling on Yuuri’s hands, which were still holding onto his own, just as the raven-haired boy made a move to drag the Russian boy out of his bedroom. “I’ll… I’ll come down to the studio with you,” he answered quietly, having reconsidered.

“Okay” Yuuri smiled at him softly, glad he was making some progress. “I’ll go grab my bag from my room while you get ready. I’ll meet you downstairs,” Yuuri offered, making yet another move to walk away. But he was met with resistance, as his friend refused to let go of his hands.

“You can stay here, I don’t mind,” Nikita spoke softly, in a tone which he hoped didn’t betray his desperation, his need to not be alone right now.

“Would you like me to?” Yuuri asked, since this would be the first time he saw Nikita changing out of his clothes.

Yuuri had noticed the Russian boy, for some reason, never seemed to like to expose himself while others were around, and that included himself. Yuuri never paid the issue any mind, not thinking there was an actual reason for that; it was simply a matter of preference, or maybe self-consciousness.

Nodding in assent, Nikita pulled Yuuri into his room, before shutting the door locked. The heavy drapes were shut, so the room sat in near-darkness, making it difficult to actually see anything, which was, perhaps, why Nikita felt comfortable having his friend in there.

Yuuri averted his eyes anyway, out of respect. He fixed his stare on the wooden floor as he heard Nikita opening his closet and drawers, presumably pulling clothes out of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could barely register his friend moving about.

It wasn’t until Yuuri heard a small, aborted whimper, that he looked up, wondering what had caused his friend to make it in the first place. What he saw made his heart nearly stop.

Nikita was wearing nothing but his dancer belt, and was in the process of sliding on a pair of leggings, but something had apparently caused him to stop mid-motion. Judging by his expression, he was in pain. Yuuri didn’t understand what could have caused it, until his eyes unconsciously slid down to his exposed thighs.

And then he saw them, even in the poorly lit bedroom.

A short T-shaped scar just below the hip, and a longer one below, which went almost all the way down to Nikita’s knee. The wounds had healed, perhaps a long time ago, but Yuuri’s mind went into overdrive, wondering what could possibly have caused those injuries in the first place.

Yuuri held his breath unconsciously, as he felt his heart racing in his chest. His eyes frantically searched for something, anything but Nikita’s exposed leg, which seemed to be the source of his friend’s pain.

The Russian boy didn’t notice any of this, as he tried to even out his own breathing, hoping for the pain to subside. He sometimes felt these stabbing aches, which tended to pass fairly quickly; but still, they were hard to ignore, as they were so sharp. A persistent sequel from that horrific accident, ten years ago.

Hoping Yuuri hadn’t heard the small whimper that had unconsciously escaped his lips, Nikita put his foot down on the ground, as the last waves of pain, which were thankfully much less intense, passed through his leg.

“Yuuri?” Nikita asked tentatively, a few moments later, as his eyes drifted to his friend, who was looking around the room frantically. His posture was tense and unnatural, too.

Heaving a sigh, Nikita moved closer and sat on the bed, right next to Yuuri, who immediately jumped nervously, gasping in the process.

“I’m so sorry!” Yuuri squeaked before he could stop himself, clamping his hands over his mouth instantaneously, wide-eyed.

“Did you see?” Nikita calmly asked. His friend’s agonized whine confirmed his suspicion.

“It’s okay, Yuu-chan. Like I’ve always told you, I trust you,” he continued, in the same calm manner.

“I didn’t mean to!” Yuuri apologized, sounding mortified.

“I know, Yuu-chan. And like I said, it’s okay. It’s not exactly a secret, and I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but…” the boy trailed off, letting out a humorless laugh. “I guess I just didn’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

Yuuri didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t feel sorry for his friend; if anything, he was more in awe of Nikita’s skill as a danseur, than ever before. His respect for his friend had instantaneously increased tenfold, for he was capable of keeping up with such an advanced class, even if he’d apparently been badly injured before.

“But you’re different, Yuu-chan,” Nikita went on, undeterred by Yuuri’s silence. “I’ve known that from the start. You would never feel pity for me, or treat me differently.”

Nikita turned to look at Yuuri, and his lovely doe-like eyes, which were glistening with unshed tears. As cerulean bore into chocolate, Yuuri shook his head frantically, trying to let his friend know he would never, indeed, do such a thing. Nikita simply smiled at him softly, hoping to convey his gratefulness.

“I promise I’ll tell you all about it some other time. Right now, my headspace is a bit…” Nikita waved his hand in further explanation, knowing Yuuri would understand.

“You don’t have to,” Yuuri merely whispered. It was important for his friend to not feel obligated. Such personal matters weren’t necessarily meant to be disclosed.

“But I do. You’re my best friend, Yuu-chan. I _want_ you to know. These scars are a part of me, just as much as my hands, or my eyes, or my heart is. I’m not ashamed of them,” the Russian boy answered truthfully, gifting Yuuri with another sweet, tiny smile.

Yuuri could only envelop his friend in his arms, hoping to convey, through his actions, all those feelings he couldn’t find the words for, at the moment. But Nikita heard him, loud and clear.

“All right,” Nikita spoke softly, a few silent moments later, letting his friend go. When Yuuri did the same, he stood up, smiling at the Japanese boy. “Let me finish getting dressed, so we can go to the studio.”

* * *

 

Several kilometers away, a certain Swiss skater was just coming back to life, after a rather stressful night. No, stressful was an understatement. The previous night had been a veritable nightmare, and he was actually afraid of what Victor’s reaction might be, once everything sank in. Well, aside from the terrible hangover he most certainly wouldn’t envy.

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, for he had been unable to get much sleep in. Definitely not ideal when you had a competition later on that day. Such was his stupor that it took him a few moments to realize he was all alone in bed. Victor was nowhere in sight.

“Victor?” Chris asked, sitting up immediately. Trying to keep calm, he stood up from the bed, and walked over to the bathroom.

“Victor?” he asked once again, before opening the door, which was unlocked.

Victor was standing in the bathroom, right in front of the mirror, still in nothing but his underwear. But there was something missing…

Still trying to get his eyes to focus, Chris didn’t think much of the light gray lump on the floor. Not until he paid closer attention. And then his mind made the connection. Was that…?

Chris’s dramatic gasp forced the Russian man to turn around slowly. Those lovely blue eyes were the same, the pure alabaster skin hadn’t changed either; and neither had the soft pink lips, with the adorable cupid’s bow that could take on the shape of an actual heart whenever Victor showed his true smile.

All of those things remained unchanged. Except, he now sported crude, asymmetrical bangs that covered the left side of his face, and the rest of his once luscious, long locks had been chopped off and now lay on the floor, by Victor’s bare feet.

“What have you done?” Chris sounded dismayed as he stared at Victor’s clumsy handiwork.

Frankly, the Swiss man wanted to cry. Aesthetic reasons be damned. What concerned Chris was his boyfriend’s emotional state. Victor was actually very particular about maintaining his flawless appearance; bordering on vain, or even obsessive. Had he been in a right state of mind, he would have never dared butcher his locks in such a crude manner.

“Oh, love. What did you do?” Chris moved closer, wrapping his trembling arms around his boyfriend, who immediately broke at the touch. Victor clung to Chris’s body like his life depended on it, and his sobs wracked throughout his entire frame. It truly was a pitiful thing to watch, to see the usually strong, confident champion, outright crushed.

It took Chris several moments to calm him down, for Victor was inconsolable, as he kept repeating his brother’s name over and over again, along with how much he regretted having hurt him so. Once he succeeded, with reassurances that things weren’t as bad as they seemed, and that he was sure they’d be able to fix things between them, the Russian man’s tears subsided.

And after that, Victor fell into a near stupor, almost like all that crying had depleted his energy, and even his will. The silver-haired man was listless, and entirely silent as Chris guided him to sit down on the bed.

“Hold on a second,” Chris whispered, before planting a soft kiss on Victor’s cheek.

Victor heard indistinct chatter. He had no clue who his boyfriend was talking to, and right now, as his head throbbed painfully, he couldn’t care less.

When Chris came back to Victor’s side, he was holding both the same pair of scissors the Russian boy had used earlier to carelessly chop off his locks, and a blister pack of aspirin in one hand, a glass of water in the other.

Once he made sure Victor took a couple of tablets, and drank the whole glass, Chris proceeded to attempt to salvage the mess before him.

Running his hands through the uneven strands, he silently got himself busy in trying to fix this disaster as best as he could. They would visit a hairdresser later; but for now, this would have to do. Chris cried silently throughout the whole ordeal.

The haircut ended up looking not terrible. Although, let’s face it, a man as handsome as Victor would look good in anything, even sporting the worst haircut in the history of humanity.

Still immersed in utter silence, Chris walked Victor to the bathroom, where he helped him wash himself in the shower; and back to the room, where he helped him dress himself, taking care of his own clothes afterwards.

Barely a few minutes later, a knock was heard on the door. The mysterious visitor turned out to be Yakov Feltsman.

For a while, the silence remained unperturbed, even as a pair of weary eyes roamed all over the lethargic figure on the bed, whose skin was ghostly pale, his eyes puffy, and the way he kept rubbing his temple suggested a headache.

“Vitya,” Yakov’s gravelly voice finally broke the silence.

Upon the lack of response, the old coach went on. “I don’t know exactly what happened last night, but from what Christophe tells me, you’re in no condition to skate today,” he continued, his words heavy in the otherwise quiet atmosphere.

Victor’s head snapped up to look at his coach. “That’s not true,” Victor retorted in a voice that sounded more like a croak than anything else, betraying he was, indeed, the worse for wear.

The grumpy coach sighed tiredly. He was definitely getting too old for this. “Can you tell me, right now, that you’re capable of landing all your jumps? That your apparent hangover won’t mess with your balance? Your focus? Are you capable of getting on that ice, and giving the best performance of your life? Because that’s what people expect, Vitya, especially after yesterday.”

Victor remained silent for a few minutes, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. In all honesty, the mere thought of spinning made him want to throw up; and picturing himself performing those difficult jumps gave him vertigo. But he’d brought this upon himself, hadn’t he? And he was a professional, after all. He had an audience to entertain and, most importantly, a country to represent.

“Yes,” he replied after a few silent moments, hoping that by the time the competition rolled around, he would be feeling much steadier on his feet. As for his state of mind, he hoped he’d be able to stop his thoughts from wandering to the night before.

“Don’t be a fool, boy. You could injure yourself. Is that what you want?” Yakov retorted, trying to keep his voice steady, but becoming increasingly annoyed by Victor’s stubbornness.

“Listen to Yakov, love. I agree with him, you’re in no condition to go through with this,” Chris interjected, as he knelt on the floor in front of Victor, placing his hand on his knee and squeezing affectionately.

“Please,” Chris urged, before planting the softest of kisses on his boyfriend’s velvety lips, in an attempt to reason with his boyfriend.

Forfeiting the competition wasn’t something Victor wanted to do. He’d worked tirelessly, over the course of several months, to choreograph and perfect his program. It was supposed to be his crowning glory. If he won this, it would mark his fifth consecutive year taking the gold. No skater had achieved such a feat before.

The three men argued for long moments, before reaching a compromise. If Victor wasn’t feeling better both physically and emotionally at least two hours before the competition, Yakov would pull him out officially, no questions asked.

And so, Victor devoted his day to sleeping a few hours, drinking lots of water, exercising at the gym in order to sweat off whatever alcohol was still poisoning his body, and… thinking about his brother. Nothing he did seemed to be able to distract him enough to get the younger boy out of his mind. He replayed the whole scene over and over in his head, wishing he’d acted differently, and regretting the fact that he hadn’t.

* * *

 

By the time the promised time rolled around, Victor assured Yakov he was up to par. Chris seemed doubtful, but he couldn’t know for sure, since Victor _had_ been really focused all throughout the day. Their interactions had been mostly normal, and last night’s incident hadn’t come up even once.

Yakov knew Victor was reckless, but not stupid, so he decided to let him go through with it. Surely, he wouldn’t let his pride get in the way of common sense. If he was still feeling raw, then he would be smart enough to not risk his own safety, right?

Except, a hurt and emotionally unstable Victor possessed anything but common sense, apparently. When his turn came up, he was a far cry from the ice prince that always managed to enchant both the audience and the judges.

The change in his appearance certainly didn’t go unnoticed, as the collective gasp that rose from the stands as soon as he stepped out on the rink could ascertain. But it was shocking to realize how few people noticed the atrocious performance Victor was putting up.

The only possible explanation was that people had subconsciously come to equal Victor Nikiforov to absolute perfection in their minds, so they didn’t actually notice everything that was wrong in what Victor was doing.

The Russian skater’s usually steady, graceful jumps were choppy and mechanical; his normally perfect, stable landings, wobbly; and his typically confident expression, somber. His head didn’t seem to be in it at all, for he was either a beat too late, or too early, unable to keep up with the music. 

And the crash...

Only Victor Nikiforov would be able to make a disastrous fall look so beautiful. Like Icarus and his melting wings, falling from the skies in freefall. It was ironic how graceful he looked, even when it was evident from his angle and low altitude that he simply wouldn’t make it. But even Victor Nikiforov, the living legend in the making and Russia’s pride and joy, couldn’t defy gravity and whatever forces were at work here.

The crash was bad, the fall unavoidable. An emperor toppling from his gilded throne, which sat high above the rest. Now, nothing but a broken pawn, sprawled on the cold ice. Defeated.

In just a few seconds, Victor’s life had taken a drastic turn. Would this one failure cut the most successful, and awe-inspiring career short? Would Victor Nikifofov be forced to hang up his skates for good, at just 22 years old? The world waited with bated breath. They weren’t ready to let go yet.

* * *

 

Nikita and Yuuri heard about it from Lilia, who, in turn, heard it from Yakov. The strict teacher had no idea of the events that had transpired the previous day at the rink. She had, in fact, found it strange, that the boys had chosen not to attend to the Free Program event, which was more exciting.

In retrospect, it was probably for the best that Nikita hadn’t witnessed the incident in person.

Images of his own horrific accident replayed in Nikita’s head. His injury had been caused while attempting a Flip. A triple one. In Victor’s case, ironically, it was his signature move, the quadruple version of the same jump, that had backfired.

The blond boy didn’t know how to feel about this. What if his brother could never skate again? There were a lot of complicated feelings and bad blood between them, but that didn’t mean Nikita wished his brother any harm. An injury like that, at the peak of an otherwise immaculate career, would certainly crush anyone’s spirit.

After having spent the day at the studio, hanging out with Yuuri, the boy was feeling a lot calmer. They still hadn’t managed to talk, but it was like Yuuri had said; that would happen whenever he was ready. Apparently, he still wasn’t.

And then, this entirely unexpected thing had come to pass. It had been almost two hours since Madame Lilia had let both boys know, and she’d asked Nikita whether he wished to visit at the hospital the following day.

Tonight, it would be futile, since they would most likely take a long time to operate, and Victor would be sleeping off the anesthesia for hours afterwards.

“I don’t know what to do, Yuu-chan,” Nikita confessed, as he stared at his own hands, which were clasped together between his own knees. “I know I should take the higher road, and visit. But I’m scared,” he whispered truthfully.

“I don’t blame you, Niki-chan. But you’re right. Good people always take the higher road, no matter how difficult it may be. And you’re a good person, Niki-chan,” Yuuri reasoned.

“What if he thinks I’m there to gloat? Or… what if he demands to know why I’m there, like last night? Like I don’t belong?”

“Niki-chan…” Yuuri paused for a bit, wondering how to phrase his thoughts best. “I really don’t know how to say this, without you thinking I’m invalidating your feelings, because I’m not. I promise. But…” Yuuri trailed off once again, as he felt his entire body tremble nervously. “I don’t think that’s what he was trying to say…”

Silence stretched out, awkward and heavy, between the two friends. Neither of them knew what to say, and so, they said nothing at all.

“I honestly…” Nikita ventured, after a long pause, although his mind was still a confused jumble of contradicting emotions. “I feel you might be right, Yuu-chan. It’s just, I’ve convinced myself he hates me, all throughout these years. He hasn’t given me any reason to believe otherwise, you know?”

“I think he’s probably just as scared as you are, Niki-chan,” Yuuri replied, as Victor’s hurt expression and his words as he examined the pass around Yuuri’s neck last night, replayed once again in his mind’s eye.

In that instant, he hadn’t been able to see it, especially since Victor’s reaction had been so unexpected it had caught Yuuri off-guard, and scared him. But that flash of hurt, along with the way Victor’s voice had sounded, like he was trying to keep it steady with all his might, gave Yuuri pause.

Nikita hoped, with all his heart, that Yuuri was right. This was a very tough decision to make. He didn’t want to appear selfish and uncaring, but he also didn’t want Victor to hurt him again. What to do? What to do, indeed?

* * *

 

The next morning, both friends found themselves standing outside Victor’s hospital room. Yuuri didn’t intend to go in; he didn’t even know Victor. He had no reason to be there, other than to give Nikita the moral support he needed, as best friends should.

Once Nikita summoned enough courage to slip inside the room, Yuuri went to the waiting room to sit down, and think. He was so lost in his own thoughts, that he completely missed the person who sat next to him silently.

“Hello,” a low, accented voice spoke softly, dejectedly, causing Yuuri to turn his head towards the source of it.

The black-haired boy felt his eyes widen as he spotted the owner. It was Victor’s boyfriend, and he was sporting one of the saddest, most worried expressions Yuuri had ever seen in his life. He looked like he hadn’t been able to sleep at all the previous night, and the puffiness of his eyes suggested he’d spent a long time crying.

“Hi,” Yuuri replied quietly, feeling sorry for him. That boy had done nothing to him, after all. If anything, he’d attempted to come to his rescue when Victor had been harassing him barely two days prior. That seemed like an eternity ago…

“They’re talking right now,” Chris didn’t even need to specify who he was talking about. It was obvious. “It will be good for them, don’t you think?” Chris smiled softly, a sort of weary smile that attempted to hide the deep sadness that inundated his heart.

“Will he be okay?” Yuuri asked, as he remembered Nikita’s scar. It looked ugly, but it hadn’t stopped Nikita from doing ballet, even if it was, apparently, painful sometimes.

“The prognosis is good so far, yeah. But the recovery process will most likely keep him out for the rest of the season,” Chris’s deep voice broke towards the end, revealing how upset this entire situation made him feel.

“That’s a shame,” Yuuri offered, sincerely. “I’m no figure skating expert, but I though the way he moved was exceptional, from what I saw the other day”

“It is,” Chris heaved a sigh, before continuing sadly. “He’s the best, by far. None of us even come close to his level.”

Yuuri simply hummed in reply, unsure about what to say.

“He’s not a bad person, either. He can be stubborn and self-absorbed sometimes, but he means no harm by it,” Chris paused for a moment, to collect his thoughts. “He loves his brother, and he’s been hoping to fix their relationship for years now. He’s just afraid Nikita will push him away, you know?”

It was eerie, how spot-on Yuuri had read the situation. Without even knowing Victor, just by hearing about the circumstances that had led to the estrangement, he’d been able to guess Nikita’s brother was scared. Scared of rejection, perhaps, of loneliness. Or was it both?

“I hope Nikita gives him a chance. He wants to do better by him,” Chris continued, despite Yuuri’s total lack of response.

“Nikita loves him too, but he’s convinced Victor doesn’t, since he never contacted him aft-after…” Yuuri stuttered before trailing off. He was unsure how best to phrase this. He didn’t feel comfortable talking about Victor’s past, especially about such a terrible thing, much less with the man’s boyfriend, himself.

“After his parents kicked him out of the house,” Chris offered, understanding Yuuri’s hesitation. The Swiss boy assumed Yuuri had to have at least some knowledge on Victor. Nikita must have told him some things, at least.

“Yes,” Yuuri merely whispered.

“Well, looks like the two fools have made a whole mess out of this situation,” Chris said, with a quiet, unamused chuckle.

Yuuri merely hummed, as he focused his stare upon his own two hands, which were intertwined, and resting between his slightly spread knees.

“I’m Chris, by the way,” the Swiss skater said, realizing he’d never actually introduced himself.

“I know,” Yuuri replied. “I mean, I remember, from the competition the other day. I’m Yuuri,” he continued, as he turned to look at Chris.

Chris smiled at him, unsure what to say. It wasn’t like he was in the mood for small talk, anyway, what with his boyfriend lying in a hospital bed. While he was dying to talk more about Victor, and how much this situation was hurting him, Yuuri wasn’t the right person for that. He didn’t even know Victor.

Conversely, Chris didn’t know Nikita, so it wasn’t like he could just ask Yuuri about him, even if he did want to know more about his boyfriend’s brother. And Yuuri didn’t think a near stranger was the right person to talk about Nikita’s personal matters, either.

Several awkward minutes went by, in complete silence, and neither boy seemed to be able to find it in himself to just stand up and leave. It wasn’t like there were a lot of places they could go, anyway. And somehow, even though the only thing they knew about each other was their name, it was comforting to have someone near, who was somehow connected to all of this.

“Well,” Chris broke the silence, about half an hour later. “They’ve been in there for over an hour now. If things have gotten this far, I don’t think they’ll be finished anytime soon.” The Swiss boy sighed, before standing up, and stretching his overtired, sore muscles.

Yuuri nodded, as he hummed in agreement. In all honesty, he hadn’t realized so much time had gone by. He’d actually expected Nikita to bolt out of the room as soon as he’d stepped in. But Chris seemed to be right. They were probably making progress in their talk, and that was good.

“Would you like to grab a cup of coffee or something?” Chris asked, politely.

“Okay,” Yuuri replied, before standing up, himself. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, after all.

As both boys walked past Victor’s room, they were secretly relieved when they couldn’t hear angry shouts coming from the other side of the door. And as tempted as they both were to go in, just to make sure their boyfriend and friend, respectively, were okay, they knew better. They had to respect their privacy. They’d find out soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some things I'd been meaning to clear up. Hopefully you'll find these notes helpful.
> 
> First of all, this fic takes place over the course of several years. At present time, Yuuri is 18, and Victor is 22, with a few months to go before their respective birthdays. This means, according to the anime, this year Victor should have gotten a gold medal at both the GPF and Worlds, thus starting his 5-year consecutive winning streak, but because of the events of this chapter, I will have to move the timeline one year forward. Please allow some creative license!
> 
> I know canonically Victor is from St. Petersburg, but I switched that here, for him to be from Moscow, and then move to St. Petersburg later on. I had him and Yakov move to Sochi afterwards, so Nikita would accept Lilia's offer to study at her academy, knowing there was no chance he'd run into Victor. He probably wouldn't have gone, otherwise!
> 
> The same thing happens with the competition where Victor injures himself. That year there were no competitions in St. Petersburg, that I could find. But I had to bring the competition to Nikita, and not the other way around. As you saw, he was reluctant to go, as it was. He always gave away the tickets his brother sent for him, because he felt they were too impersonal, especially since Victor never sent them to Nikita himself. He sent them to Lilia, through Yakov.
> 
> Yes, I promise Victor will be all right! He took a big blow to his pride, of course, because he'd been undefeated for the previous 4 years, and this injury just cost him his winning streak. He should have listened to Yakov! He would still have lost his winning streak, but he wouldn't have injured himself. Stubborn boy!


End file.
